


Homeless

by WritingPains



Category: Iron Man (Movies), TMNT (2007), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Crossover, Homelessness, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Human Michelangelo (TMNT), Kid Fic, Kid Tony Stark, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingPains/pseuds/WritingPains
Summary: After his overbearing and cruel father discovers that Tony went behind his back and started to study robotics as an elective, Howard Stark kicks Tony out of the house and cuts him off.After being kidnapped and transformed into a human, Michelangelo is scared to return home, so he spends his days kicking it in the streets and looking after some scrawny kid he found.With the looming threat of changes coming to the lives of our young heroes, they must learn to trust their safety in the hands of others if they want to survive. And maybe, just maybe, they'll be able to find their families and live a better life afterall.
Relationships: Donatello & Leonardo & Michelangelo & Raphael (TMNT), Tony Stark & Avengers Team, Tony Stark and Michelangelo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

Homeless

Tony walks into the town hall with a wave towards several of the patrons, paying no regard as to whether they’re familiar or not. He learned that it doesn’t matter. Everyone is treated as a friend here. He lifts his apron from the block of hooks by the entrance to the kitchen and dons the world's most-hated hair net.

“Looking lovely, son,” the cook says with a friendly wink.

Tony rolls his eyes and ties the apron around his waist.

“We need you out front, lad,” Jesse, the coordinator, tells him.

“Sure thing, Sir.”

Jesse huffs at the name but waves Tony away. Tony settles himself in front of the table, a pile of plastic bowls to the left and two large vats of soup to his right. The halls are empty right now, but when Jesse opens the door, the regulars, and possibly some people merely passing through, will file in and line up before him.

“How was your day, kid?” Frederick asks as he unfolds chairs.

“Oh, same as always.”

“Dad been in touch?”

Tony busies himself with filling mugs with hot water and tea bags.

“Hey, you heard from Mikey recently? I haven’t seen him for a few days.”

“Your skateboarding miscreant?” Frederick pulls a face. “No. I have not seen a hair on his head. Maybe CPS found him again. I saw them around these parts the other day.”

Tony wishes he didn’t feel a little disappointment at that. Mikey needs to be given a home, especially with winter coming. Tony, on the other hand, has to avoid CPS at all costs. It’ll bring a hailstorm of press, and his father would hate him more than he already does. Though, Tony longs for a bed that isn’t scratchy and surrounded by war vets having nightmares and young, scared kids crying out in their sleep.

Mikey brought a lot of great things with his presence. For a start, Mikey always made being homeless seem like a game. They’d share stories, food laughs, and even on the worst nights, Tony still had a friend. Because of this, Mikey made living on the streets so much easier. Tony can’t imagine how much worse his life would be without him around. It doesn’t bear to think about.

“Yeah, maybe,” Tony mutters, gloomily.

“You need a bed for the night, kiddo?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“You’re never too much trouble.”

Tony smiles back at the man shyly. Frederick, Jesse and The Cook have been better than family since Tony showed up four months ago, hanging from Mikey’s arm half-delirious and very close to starving. They helped feed him, let him shower, offered to call CPS and then allowed him to sleep there, even after he steadfastly refused. Since then, he’s spent every night that the hall was open in their care and volunteering.

“I’m going to bring them in,” Jesse calls. “Get ready. And remember, no more than one snack each, ok?”

Tony nods, cracking his fingers in preparation. As the people file in and make their way over to where Tony stands, he begins to ladle soup, handing bowls out to everyone. Muttered ‘thanks’ are offered with genuine smiles. Tony greets them all by name if he knows them and promises to come over and chat later. The others he welcomes and bids them a good meal.

There’s a system Tony has created. He files away names for the repeat visitors and slowly learns a little more about them over time. Those who’re new, Tony makes sure to know the doors will always be open for them. If they don’t talk to him, he doesn’t speak to them. If they’re young, he gives them more food than is strictly allowed. He does what he can to help those in need. No one should be made to feel like the world isn’t on their side, so Tony does what he can to help out where he’s needed.

Tony likes working here. He just doesn’t like the circumstances that brought him to this point. When his father learned that he changed his major to robotics at MIT had been the catalyst to their problems. Everything leading up to it, the scathing remarks from Howard, the angered responses from Tony, didn’t help either. Unfortunately, Tony simply existing seemed to irritate their father, and everything Howard ever said to Tony just added to the weight of his father’s disappointment. In reality, after MIT, things were never going to be OK between them. Maybe this is the best.

Initially, Tony was able to get a scholarship so that he didn’t have to leave MIT or his best friend Rhodey on Howard's word. However, once his father found out the truth, the scholarship was retracted without warning or reason, and Tony was left out on the streets.

Since then, he’s juggled being homeless, keeping Rhodey from finding out and helping the Avengers.

Howard set him up on a ‘mechanics date’ with the Avengers the summer before college started. Tony was _so stoked._ He’d been following the Avengers’ adventures since he was a kid. He’d entertained, for a short time, the idea of joining them when he was older, but that’s not a feasible plan now. Though it’s debatable that it ever was.

His father, for all that he’s not involved in Tony’s life, would never allow it. And being denied the chance to hang around with Steve and the team would take away one of the only reasons he’s still happy to be alive. He’d do well to accept what small mercies he has now.

Tomorrow, after he’s woken up and helped clear away the beds until next Saturday, he’ll head over to the tower to offer his help with the team. He loves going there, because it’s extra warmth during the day, and he gets a good meal in his stomach for his troubles. If he’s lucky, he can take extra’s ‘home’ and share them among the community.

Tony smiles at the people he’s come to know as friends as he serves soup, one by one. It’s always good. Cook works for a five-star restaurant, and he’s got permission from the owner to take unused vegetables and meat home with him. It wasn’t a comfortable arrangement, because there are a lot of laws that make such an act inadvisable, but his boss promised to turn a blind eye. Tony is grateful because the food is both delicious and filling.

On some weekends, they even manage to snag some bread rolls, that after being warmed in the oven for a few minutes, are the best thing Tony has ever tasted in his whole damn life. Well, they’re not better than Ana’s bread. Nothing is. But Tony has resigned to the fact that he will never have that again. Since his removal from MIT, the care packages stopped, and it’s not like he can stop by for dinner anymore. Or ever again, for that matter.

Tony had always hoped that he wasn’t merely part of their job, but he’s heard nothing from Ana and Jarvis since leaving, and, well… it doesn’t bear to think about that, either.

In fact, thinking is overrated.

Tony swallows back the lump in his throat, and his smile feels a little more strained. He misses them, but he won’t’ burden them if they don’t have time for him. That’s fine.

Tony continues to work until every person has food and is sat down. He keeps an eager eye on the door, watching out to see if Mikey shows up, but there’s no sign of him yet, and people stopped filtering in about half an hour ago.

Mikey probably found a friends’ to crash at. That’s got to be it.

That’s what Tony tells himself as he pulls the threadbare blanket over himself that night while curling up and trying to sleep over the sounds of sobbing, coughing and snoring that is the norm for bedtime in the shelter.

Tony wakes up the next morning and is immediately enlisted into helping the morning crew—an elderly lady named Dixie and a college student called Stan—serve out the remnants of last night’s dinner. Once everyone else is gone, Tony helps pack up and then waves goodbye to Dixie and Stan before making his way to a public bathroom a few blocks away.

He does his best to wash, straighten his hair and generally try to make himself look like he’s not homeless. Clint has made comments about Tony’s clothes never changing, which meant that Tony had to turn it into a joke (“I like what I like, what can I say?”). They don’t need to know that his clothes never change because he doesn’t have any other sets. Sometimes he’s forced to wash each article separately and dry them by fire so that they don’t start to smell really bad while also keeping him from getting too cold. He hates being dirty. He hates that he never thought about how human being clean made him feel.

And when people see a dirty child in the streets, they offer him looks filled with pity.

Of all the things about being homeless that Tony hates the most, it’s the sympathy. He never turns away a free meal, or money, or any kind of charity, but the looks he’s given hurt. He hates that it’s apparent that he’s homeless, and he hates that people feel sorry for him. Don’t they know the luxury he lived in for fourteen years? The warm beds, the hot meals, the long showers? Tony lived in a world where money was never mentioned because it meant nothing. Nothing in the entire world had a price on it, and he didn’t know to enjoy it. He never understood that such a life wasn’t the norm. These people should hate him. They certainly already hate his family. If they knew who he was, they wouldn’t spare him a cent.

He dreads to think what people would do if they did discover who he really was. If they learned that Howard Starks son, who the media believe is being groomed to take over the company, is living on the streets, surviving on the scraps of strangers and hand-outs from the Avengers, there would be hell to pay.

Some, he knows, wouldn’t hesitate to take him to CPS. They’d do so without asking anything in return, wanting nothing more than for Tony to be safe and warm. Being homeless has taught Tony that the world is filled with awful people, but that there are some honestly amazing humans among them. Selfless people who hurt with another’s pain, and who would give up their last dollar to ensure other people are fed.

Others, though, would take him and use him for their own nefarious deeds. Whether it’s for ransom or fame is debatable, but people use people. That’s just an unfortunate fact of life. Tony has accepted that. Had done long ago.

“Earth to kid.”

Tony startles and looks up. He’s standing outside of the tower, his damp shirt clinging uncomfortably on his back.

“Oh, Hey, Clint!”

Clint grins and puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“You lost weight?” Clint asks with a frown.

Tony shrugs, unwilling to answer that question. He’s not great at lying, and he’s found that if he simply avoids conversations about his wellbeing, he can prevent lying to his friends about it.

“Dunno. I’ve been walking a lot recently. Maybe it’s that.”

“Oh. Cool.”

Clint is a _spy,_ Tony reminds himself. Lies aren’t going to fly with the dude. Fortunately, the man seems happy enough to play it off for now. Tony just needs to be extra careful in the future. He wouldn’t put it past any of the team to follow him home.

“Let’s head up. Steve is freaking out because Thor broke the microwave.”

“ _Again?”_

Upstairs, Tony is welcomed like a member of the family. He’s pulled into hugs, has his hair ruffled, and Bruce pushes a bowl of oatmeal into his hands.

“You look hungry, Tony. You’re a growing boy. You have to eat.”

“I eat,” Tony tells him.

“Sure you do. Between your projects and sleeping, you mean. Eat it anyway though, alright? For me?”

“Anything for you, Brucie.”

“Science Bro’s for life,” Bruce winks back.

Tony grins triumphantly. Bruce has avoided that title for a long time, but Clint managed to get it trending on twitter, and the man reluctantly stopped complaining about it.

“It’s _hashtag_ Science Bros for life, Banner,” Clint admonishes. “Do it all or don’t do it at all.”

Tony snickers into his food, allowing Steve to usher him towards the table.

“Thor broke the microwave again, I hear?”

“T’was not a fault of mine, young Anthony. The incessant cries were bothersome and my temper was running slim, for Clinton found and ate all my poptarts.”

“Clint,” Tony groans. “Why?”

“T’was hungry,” Clint announces in his best Thor voice.

“Whatever. I’ll get that fixed soon. Have you all added to the list?”

A round of ‘yes’, ‘yeah’ and ‘yep’ greets his question, and Tony nods.

“Excellent. I’ll get to work then!”

Bruce confiscates the bowl when Tony tries to wash it, and Steve hefts the microwave into his arms when Tony tries to lift it on his own. Together, Steve and Tony head down to the lab.

“You can leave that on the table by the door, thanks Steve. Yeah, next to the first aid kit.”

The metal table rattles under the new weight, and Tony pulls on a pair of goggles. If he were at his father’s house, he wouldn’t have bothered with safety precautions, but Bruce is a stickler for not getting hurt, and Tony knows better than to disregard his general safety.

With a flick of his wrist, a holographic screen appears before him, a list of repair jobs waiting to be addressed. On the table in front of him are several items, each in a different state of disrepair. Clint’s arrows are maybe the easiest job, so Tony drags that item to the top of the list and gathers the equipment he’ll need to start working on them.

“Tony.”

Hand jumping to his heart, Tony gasps out in shock and twists around to face Steve.

“Cap, you’re still here.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Then don’t sneak up on me!”

Wrinkles deepen around Steve’s eyes.

“I didn’t sneak. I just never left.”

Tony rolls his eyes, and Steve laughs, though he sobers up quickly and Tony knows immediately that he’s in some kind of trouble.

“Whatever you think I did, I didn’t.”

“You’re not in trouble, Tony.” Steve runs a hand through his hair and then pierces Tony with a look that is so sincere that it sends him into panic mode. “Or, are you? Tony, you’d tell us if you were having trouble, right?”

Running his mind through everything that has happened since he was last at the tower, Tony tries to find what he may have said or done that could have outed him and his current situation. He’s a great talker, when he needs to be, so if anything has been given away, he’s confident that he can convince Steve that nothing is amiss, regardless of how much evidence he has against him.

Finding nothing, Tony shrugs.

“Of course. You guys are my friends.”

The look of disappointment that Steve sends his way digs a hole deep in Tony’s chest.

“Tony, please don’t lie.”

“You _are_ my friends!”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean that you’re not telling us that you’re in trouble.”

“What are you talking about?”

The chair screeches against the floor as Steve pulls it out and sits down. He signals for Tony to do the same.

“Come on, Steve. I don’t have time for a chit-chat about whatever you’re being paranoid about. I’m… I’ve got work to do.”

“Humour me, please.”

Even Tony can’t ignore the pleading in Cap’s voice, so he pulls out his own chair and falls into it, making sure that his desire to be doing anything other than this is known. Steve’s lips quirk up for a millisecond, before it drops again.

“You’ve been getting thin.”

“I’m on a diet.”

“You’re always wearing the same clothes.”

“It’s good for the environment.”

“Natasha followed you ‘home’ last week, and saw you going into a homeless shelter.”

 _Of course she did_ , Tony growls in his mind. _And now I need to lie to my friends. Thanks, Nat._

“I volunteer.”

“You’re lying.”

Heart constricting at the accusation, Tony flinches away.

“Why are you lying?”

Steve doesn’t sound angry, or disappointed. He sounds _worried_ , and somehow that’s so much worse. Searching the room for an answer, Tony feels his shaky hands coming up to hold himself together.

“I’m not,” he says, though even to his own ears it sounds lame. “Just. Steve, just leave it alone.”

“I won’t. You’re part of the team, Tones. We care about you. If you’re having problems, we want to help.”

“I’m _fine_ , Steve. I’m always fine. If you ever think I’m not fine, then just remember that I’m actually A-Ok every day.”

“Let us help.”

“I would, if I needed it, but I’m actually perfect.”

“You’re going to get sick if you keep going the way you’re going.”

“I don’t get sick.”

“Tony—”

“Steve, please stop. You’re giving me a headache. I want to get this work done and go home.”

“Where is home, Tony? And don’t say Howard’s. I know you’re not staying there.”

“I’m hanging with Rhodey at the moment.”

“Really?” Steve’s eyebrows rise up. “Cause he told us that you’ve not been there for a while. He’s under the impression that you’ve dropped from college.”

“I’ve been staying with a friend.”

“Stop _lying_.”

“Leave me alone!” Tony shouts, standing up and knocking the chair over. “Get off my damn back, Steve. I’m fine, and that’s all you need to know.”

Steve shakes off the shock and offers a simple nod in response. He gets up, and the door softly closes behind him, leaving Tony to stand, staring. His chest heaves, and he clenches his teeth, nails digging into his palms.

A wash of cold settles over him, and Tony turns back, starting up his music. It’s loud, much louder than he’d normally have it, but he needs to drown out his thoughts.

AC/DC blares over the speakers, and Tony’s hands systematically begin working over Clint’s arrows. S.H.I.E.L.D. sacrificed strength for flexibility, which means that they’re breaking when they hit the target, lessening the impact. Carbon fibres are _obviously_ the better choice, but for whatever reason they overlooked that.

Quick fix. Tony moves the equipment over to a different table and starts the fabrication process. He doesn’t have the time or resources to make a quiver full, but he only needs to make one, document his process and have it sent to the R&D people, and Clint will be sorted in no time.

Once that is done, Tony looks over the list and in a fit of anger that even he recognises as childish, moves Steve’s request to the bottom. He has to fix the microwave next. The damage is mostly cosmetic, so that will be done within no time.

All in all, it takes four hours to complete the work.

If this were a normal day, he’d go upstairs and kick back with the team. Maybe watch some Netflix and grab some food. But after the argument with Steve, Tony would rather do anything else. He can’t face the team now. There’s no way that Steve hasn’t told them all, and he’d rather not risk having Nat follow him.

After turning off the music and all the equipment, Tony takes the stairs and hops on the nearest bus. He doesn’t have a lot of money, less than five dollars, but a vehicle is the best way to get away quickly and reduce the chances of him being followed. He hops off only when there is a surge of people getting on, and he hides himself in an alleyway, checking around the corner to ensure he’s alone.

When he’s certain, he walks back against the route of the bus, keeping his head down and his hood up. He and Mikey sleep in a particular place for each day of the month. Tony sticks to the schedule as closely as he can, but Mikey often misses nights.

Today is the sixth, which means they’ll be under the bridge. It’s about an hour’s walk from here. It gives Tony time to catch some of the afternoon sun and stretch his body after a binge. He loves the work he gets to do, but it can be hard on his body when it requires him spending a long time hunched over.

The walk is pleasant, even though he can feel every little stone on the pavement through his shoes. The soles of his feet burn, and his legs ache, but he’s got the energy from breakfast keeping him going.

The sun has already started to set by the time he reaches his destination. Most days, he’d sit and pray that someone gave him money, but he can’t afford to do that today. Well, he can’t afford not to either, but another day without food doesn’t sound nearly as bad as one of the team finding him and revealing his secret to the world. So, he ducks beneath and into the darkness.

Rats scatter, and trash tumbles along. Above him, the traffic keeps the city alive, and the water below rushes along, unbothered by the minor settling in for a cold night.

Again, Tony finds himself wishing Mikey would come along, and hating himself for it. If Mikey has a safer place to sleep, then Tony should be happy for him.

From his backpack, Tony produces a book and uses the small slip-on light to read. It’s his only solace, the only way to take himself out of the streets and into a better world. One where the only problems are ones he doesn’t have to solve, and the only trauma he experiences are things he stops suffering from when he closes the pages.

*

Tony wakes quickly.

He can hear someone groaning, feet shuffling, and a wet cough.

A drunk.

Tony doesn’t begrudge anyone for how they handle their situation. Drinking is a way to numb oneself to the cold, and can take the edge off, even if it is just for the night. Unfortunately, it also means that Tony has had some deeply unpleasant experiences. Worse than with Howard, even, because he knows that Howard is angry at _him_. Out here, they’re angry at themselves, at their situation. Tony understands, but he can’t stand for it. And he can’t cope with another attack.

Moving his bag behind him, Tony stands and assumes a fighting stance; the same one that Nat taught him when he’d mentioned some of the older kids bullying him a few weeks back. He’d been lying, of course, to explain bruises, but she took it as a challenge. They haven’t had many sessions, yet. He’s not very strong, but he’s got to try and defend himself.

It feels as though his heart is trying to escape, and it’s starting to hurt to breathe.

“Help.”

Tony lurches forward, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness and making out the shape of Mikey, who is falling to his hands and knees.

“Mikey, what’s wrong?”

Reaching down, Tony puts his arm around Mikey and hauls him to his feet. It’s a lot of extra weight, especially considering how weak Tony is, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he slowly drags Mikey out into the light.

Mikey struggles, but Tony tightens his grip.

“I need to see how bad the injuries are,” Tony explains.

He only receives a gasp of pain in response, and his stomach constricts with panic. He’s not equipped to handle this, and neither of them have to means to receive medical attention. If Mikey is gravely injured, then Tony isn’t sure what he should do.

“What happened?” Tony asks, as he gently sets Mikey down on the ground beneath the orange glow of a streetlight. The fence along the waterway groans with the weight, but doesn’t break.

“Some dude with spikes beat me up,” Mike huffs, almost as though it’s a joke. “Got me real good.”

“I’ll say. You look like you’ve been thrown down a mountain.”

Mikey smiles, busted lip bleeding sluggishly.

“I don’t know how to help,” Tony admits. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Just make sure I don’t choke on my own blood and I’ll owe you one.”

“Deal.”

Mikey shifts against the wooden fence, and cries out, his face screwing up in pain.

“Dammit. No, we can’t just… let you heal from this alone. You need some medical attention, if only to stop you from getting an infection.”

“We can hardly walk into a hospital, Tones.”

“I know, but I know somewhere that has supplies that I need. Can you walk?”

*

The answer should have been a resounding no, but Mikey was never one to admit defeat, and Tony didn’t push him to. Together, under the two am moon, they hobbled through the streets until the Avengers Tower loomed above them.

“Here?”

“Look, don’t ask questions and try to keep your voice low, OK? I can get us in, get you fixed up, and get us out, but not if you start hollering.”

“I won’t, dude. I was just asking.”

Stepping into the shadow, Tony leads them both up to a service entrance. Pressing in the code, Tony cringes as the door opens with a loud ring. He closes the door behind them and waits for the sound of footsteps that show they’ve been outed. When nothing comes, he takes Mikey to the elevator. Ideally, they’d take the stairs to avoid detection, but Mikey isn’t in any shape for that. It’s a risk they’re going to have to take.

“How did you know how to get in here?” Mikey whispers.

“It’s a long story.”

Once they’re inside the lab, Tony helps Mikey onto the table.

“Ok, we’re safe in here. Now, stay still. It’ll hurt, but we need to clean it all out.”

“Have at it, doc.”

“Shirt off.”

“Shouldn’t you buy me a drink first?”

“We’re both underage,” Tony retorts, flipping open the first aid kit.

“Well, you could ask Gerard to buy us some vodka.”

Gerard is the older man that has taken it upon himself to watch over the younger members of the homeless community. He’s not always able to provide much, but sometimes he can lend a sympathetic ear coupled with comforting words.

“Nah. Now, strip.”

Mikey chuckles, but it quickly turns pained as he struggles out of the ratty hooded sweatshirt. Tony helps, and hisses in sympathy as he spots the myriad of bruises and open wounds that decorate his chest.

“Jeez, Mikey, this guy did a real number on you.”

There’s a lot to work on, but Tony firsts clears out the cuts and covers them with bandages. When that’s done, he steps back.

“We might have to sneak upstairs,” Tony admits. “We need to ice the worst of the bruises, bring down the swelling where we can.”

“Won’t we get caught?”

“Not if we’re extra quiet.”

And if luck, which has never been their friend before, suddenly takes their side. Not that Tony says that out loud. He needs to keep Mikey calm.

Sneaking into a house belonging to so many super-powered individuals and literal secret agents is not one of Tony’s smarter plans, but if they don’t try then Mikey will be in pain for a long time, and Tony can’t let that happen. Not when he has the means to stop it.

“Come on. Let’s get our sneak on.”

Mikey shivers, and Tony throws a blanket from the worktop over his shoulders.

The living area is blessedly empty when they arrive, and they’re unendingly careful. Mikey stuffs a fist into his mouth, and Tony is as silent on his feet as he’s capable. Years of tiptoeing around his father gave him a great talent for sneaking, but unfortunately the same cannot be said Mike.

“What’s the matter with you? At least _try_.”

“Hey, screw you, Tony. I’m normally a ninja on my feet, but if you haven’t noticed, someone kicked the _snot_ out of me. Besides, I’m not exactly used to this body. So forgive me if I’m not in peak condition. Give me a break, will you?”

“Whatever,” Tony hisses. “Just sit here, alright?”

Tony releases his hold on Mikey and lowers him to the floor on the side of the island facing away from the living area. While no one is around, Tony would rather reduce the risk of anyone finding them from simply popping in.

Once Mikey is down, Tony crawls over to the freeze and ever-so-carefully pulls the door open. As he had suspected (and it’s not unexpected, considering their profession), the entire bottom drawer is dedicated to ice packs. Tony grabs three, and crawls back to Mikey, dropping them on the floor at his side before embarking on another adventure to the sink. In the cupboard underneath, he finds several tea-towels. Throwing them over his shoulder, Tony crawls straight back to Mike.

“I hate to jinx it,” Tony says as he wraps the ice packs and places them on Mikes bruises. “But that was pretty easy.”

“I can’t believe we broke into the avengers tower.”

Lights flood the room

“Neither can I.”

Tensing, Tony feels fear flood his body. Natasha comes into view, hands on her hips and hair pulled up into a messy bun. Tony searches her face, trying to find anger or disappointed, but he finds nothing. Her face is as impassive as usual.

“Nat, I _swear_ I can explain.”

“Nat? Are you on a first name basis with the Black Widow?” Mikey whispers.

“Nat, what’s going—oh, hey Tones.”

Clint comes to a stop beside Nat, a single eyebrow arched.

“What are you guys up to?”

“Uh…”

“Gotta lie quicker than that if you want us to believe you,” Nat warns.

Nothing comes to mind. No lie, no grand story, nada.

“Funny you should creep in tonight,” comes another familiar voice. “Hey, kiddo.”

Rhodey rounds the corner, and before he even has the sense to question it, Tony throws himself into his best friends arms. Rhodey holds him tight, his hchin resting on the top of Tony’s head. He smells just like he always has, Tony notes. A mix of grease and cheap body spray. It’s comforting and feels as close to home as Tony can imagine anything smelling.

It reminds him of simple, but warm things.

Nights curled up in one of Rhodey’s ginormous sweatshirts while Rhodey and Tony talked to Roberta, Rhodey’s mum on the phone. Mornings drinking coffee like it was more important that breathing while Rhodey sprayed himself with enough Axe Body Spray to kill a whale. Afternoons studying together and working over projects, shoulder to shoulder.

Home.

“I missed you,” Tony sobs into Rhodey’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Rhodey tightens his hold.

“I missed you too, little man.”

“What is going on?”

The moment of calm is shattered, and Rhodey shifts out of the hug and places a heavy hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“Wouldn’t we all like to know the answer to that question,” Steve says, as he enters the room with Thor and Bruce at either side. “Care to explain?”

Tony bites his lip and looks from Mikey, who is still on the floor, to the team.

“My friend got hurt.”

“That much is obvious,” Clint says. “Let’s get you on the sofa, hey, kid?”

Nat and Clint both carefully help Mikey to his feet, and Bruce grabs the icepacks and follows them to the lounge. Once Mikey is lain across the sofa cushions and Bruce gets to work, checking him over for further injuries that Tony wasn’t able to fix, Rhodey turns enquiring eyes onto Tony.

“What’s going on? Steve called to check if you were staying with me, but you’d dropped out of college.”

“You dropped out of college?” Nat asks, sharp eyes turning to him. “Why?”

“You were in college?” Mikey looks painfully confused. “I don’t understand, dude. If you have all these friends, why have you been sleeping on the street?”

“The _street?_ ”

“Yeah. For like, the last four months.” Mikey knows what he’s doing, Tony is certain of that. “It’s been four months, right?”

“Oh god,” Tony groans, covering his face with his hands. “Stop talking.”

“Tony.”

Looking up, Tony finds Bruce, his forehead creased and eyes shining.

“What’s going on? Are you homeless?”

There’s no dancing around the subject now. Everyone except Mikey looks horrified.

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rhodey hisses, pulling Tony back into his arms. “Why didn’t you say anything? What happened?”

Breaking down, Tony explains the story through heaving sobs. He hasn’t cried since the first night he slept in the corner of an underground parking lot. He’s not allowed himself to. Emotions solve nothing and crying simply makes things worse.

He tells them how Howard wanted him to study mechanics, and mechanics alone. Tony was supposed to take over the weapons division of Stark Industries, and when he learned that Tony had changed over to robotics, he pulled some strings and had Tony’s scholarship rescinded. He had to leave the same day, and never got the chance to say goodbye to Rhodey. He explains how he pleaded with his father, and how Jarvis and Ana weren’t there on the day his was kicked out. Maria had retreated to her room, and made no objections when Howard took everything from Tony and forced him out of the house.

“Why didn’t you come to me, Tony? You know you always have a home with my mother.”

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t make someone else take me in. Howard would get in trouble if anyone knew what he’d done, and he’d hate me. More than he already does.”

“Howard? As in, _Stark._ ” The comprehension dawns slowly on Mikey’s freckled face. “Holy… Tony, are you Tony Stark?”

The silence that follows is telling, and Tony really doesn’t know where things are going to go from here. He’s lied to everyone, and yet Mikey doesn’t sound angry, Rhodey isn’t furious, and the team appear far more concerned than they are mad at him for keeping such a monumental secret.

“Let’s all just take a breather. We need to help Tony’s friend. He’s pretty beat up,” Clint says, signally over to Mikey. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story, actually,” Mikey says, trying to wave the attention away. “Just... if you let me go, I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Jesus, you and Tony are one of the same, huh,” Rhodey huffs out in a half laugh. “You both act as though the worst thing that can happen to another person is having you around. Where’s your family? Did you ditch them because you thought you were causing them problems?”

Tony frowns at the way Mikey looks discomfited by the question, and he realises that he’s never bothered to ask _why_ Mikey lived on the streets. Neither of them has been particularly forthcoming with information about their personal lives, it seems.

“I’ll take that squirming as a yes,” Bruce mutters as he rubs salve over the large bruise that is growing darker by the second on Mikey’s face. “I bet they wish you’d go home.”

“You don’t know anything,” Mike says, and Tony flinches at the anger in his friend’s voice. “You guys have a real cute thing going on here, but I can’t go home. I’d rather die on the streets than face my brothers.”

“You don’t mean that,” Tony urges.

“Come on, Tony. We were both starving, sleeping under bridges, between trash cans, in warehouses; we both had places we could be, but we chose not to be. You can hardly judge me on this.”

Caught out, Tony shrugs.

“Thought so.”

“If you won’t go back to your home tonight, then you’re both staying here.”

“Steve, we can’t—”

“Go outside and sleep in the cold? You’re absolutely right. Clint, go get them something to sleep in? Nat, can you set up the spare room on my floor? I’ll make you both something to eat. No arguments.”

Rhodey still hasn’t relinquished his hold on Tony, so when the man starts to move, Tony is dragged along with him.

“Come on, kid. You and your friend can shower. Or, well, _you_ can. He’ll have to get a sponge bath or something.”

“Get me a wet wipe and I’ll be fine,” Mikey tells them all.

“Not a chance,” Bruce says. “I’ll help.”

“What are you, a creep?”

“No. I’m a doctor. More than that, I’m Tony’s friend, which means you’re _our_ friend.”

As Mikey is led away, Tony can see that he looks perplexed, but can’t seem to find it in himself to complain.

“Clothes are on the bed,” Nat says as she passes them in the hallway. “Sorry Tony.”

“Sorry?” Tony repeats, but Nat is already walking away. “Wait, Nat! Sorry for what?”

Rhodey chuckles, and together they walk into a bedroom with two beds.

“Shower. I’ll wait for you out here.”

“You don’t have to,” Tony protests.

“Obviously I do, since you’ve picked up the habit of wondering off to live on the bloody streets.”

In a burst of rage that Tony has never felt before, he kicks the bathroom door. It slams against the tiles, and a spiderweb of cracks explodes from the point of impact. Tony jumps away from the damage, panicked, and Rhodey steps into his space.

“Don’t worry about it, Tones.”

But Tony _is_ worry about it. Not just the stupid wall that couldn’t stay in one piece, but _everything._ Why do things have to make zero sense? Why do people have to act like they want him around when he’s so readily convinced himself that they don’t? Even in the face of their patient care and overt worry, Tony’s mind is throwing vicious thoughts into stream of consciousness, and it’s hard to discount them.

“Is my Dad paying you to care?”

Rhodey reels back, eyes wide and mouth going slack.

“You’re joking.”

“Maybe,” Tony mutters, kicking the door again, lightly this time. “Or maybe I’m a waste of space. And you might not think so now, but you will later. Everyone does. I talk too much, I’m stupid, I’m—”

“None of the above. Tony, I don’t know what has been said to you in the past, but none of that is true. I can’t believe you’d live on the streets for _four months_ because you think you’re impossible to care for.”

“But—”

“No. Shower, now. You’re stressed, tired and probably hungry. We’ll discuss this at a time when you’re not.”

Tony isn’t sure if he’s relenting because it’s easy or because he wants to stop talking about this. As the water warms him, Tony figures he doesn’t want to know the answer to that question. He’s not sure if he’s being plain pathetic or utterly stupid, or neither; what if Howard was right? What if they get sick of him after one night? And it’s not as though it’s just _him_. It’s Mikey as well, who is his whole bag of crazy and troubles. The team have no obligation to be taking them in, but they are, and it just means that they’ll get angry with Tony sooner.

“If you don’t stop talking yourself into leaving, I’m going to come in there and turn the water cold.”

Shuddering at the mere thought of it, Tony hurries through the shower and emerges in just a towel. Rhodey rolls his eyes and turns away, and Tony makes quick work changing.

“You look adorable,” Rhodey croons.

“I look like a child dressing up.”

The ‘pyjamas’ that Nat left appear to be a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt so big that it might as well be a dress.

“That’s what happens when you come to sleepover at a house of heroes,” Rhodey shrugs.

“I feel like they picked the biggest hero and gave me their shirt. Could Nat not spare a single one? Or Clint, even? This is definitely a Thor shirt.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go get some food and check up on your friend.”

In the kitchen, Mikey is eating a bowl of cereal and chatting away with Bruce like they’ve known each other for years. Nat is sipping from a mug and observing the room from over the rim. Steve is putting away ingredients, and he’s the first to acknowledge Tony.

“I was going to make something proper, but your friend assured me that ‘froot-loops’ would suffice.”

“It’s brightly-coloured, which means it has all the nutrients,” Mikey informs.

“That’s definitely not true,” Bruce says.

“Prove it.”

“You know I’m a scientist, right? I could prove it to you, and I could make it a five-hour long process that will make you regret ever doubting me.”

Mikey grins bright and wide.

“I thought you were just a tall nerd, but you’re pretty hard core, Dr Banner.”

“What foods will sate your hunger, Mighty Anthony?”

“Froot-loops are good,” Tony shrugs.

“I don’t even know why we have them in the house,” Steve mutters, as he shakes out another bowl.

“Because they taste great,” Clint throws back. “Come on, man. Just cause you eat boring old oatmeal like a boring old man doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.”

Tony takes the bowl, though he can’t find himself hungry enough to eat. He looks from face to face, and he can feel the bags under his own eyes growing. How are things going to change from here? Will they continue to treat him like their mechanic, or will they start viewing him as some kind of free loader, asking for more than he’s earned?

And what about Mikey? If he won’t return to his family, and the Avengers don’t let him stay too, he’ll be forced back onto the streets.

“Eat, Tony, before I force you to.”

It’s tasteless, but Tony takes measured bites while his mind wanders through endless possibilities, none of which bare thinking about. Somehow, sleeping on the streets was easier that the possibility of moving into the tower. There’s so much more to worry about here, so many possible outcomes to his presence.

He’s not sure he’ll be able to handle them hating him.

“We’re not going to overwhelm everyone with a talking tonight,” Rhodey says. “Maybe tomorrow, when we’ve all had a good rest.”

“Good idea. I’ll be making breakfast at around seven.”

“And Michael, I would like to check you over more thoroughly in the morning. I have an X-ray in my lab. We can make sure you don’t have any broken bones. If you feel overwhelmed with pain at any point, let me know.”

“You have an x-ray machine? Can we x-ray my whole body?”

Bruce smiles.

“Sure.”

That night, after Clint has watched them climb into bed and Rhodey has turned out the light, Tony stares at the darkness and waits.

“Do we stay?” Mikey whispers.

“Yes,” Nat calls through the door.

“She’s scary,” Mikey says, even quieter.

“Agreed,” Tony whispers back.

“Are we safe here?”

“Probably.”

“I don’t want to go home,” Mikey says after a few moments.

“We’ll talk about that tomorrow. For tonight, we’ll just sleep, OK?”

“Ok.”

Mikey doesn’t fall asleep until well after midnight. Tony knows this because he doesn’t fall asleep until much later.

Dreams are a terrible affliction. Tony has always thought so. Maybe it’s because he never remembers the good ones; he simply feels the remnants of joy in the seconds after he has woken up. The ones he does remember though are generally so awful that he spends the hours following reaching deep for his breath and trying his best not to fall into a fit of panic.

Tonight is no different.

When he wakes up, screaming and begging for Howard to _please leave him alone_ , he finds that both Rhodey and Mikey are by his side, trying to talk him down from his fearful fight against his bedsheets.

“You’re safe here, bro.”

“Yeah. It’s just us. You’re at Avengers Towers. It’s five fifteen.”

“I’m fine,” Tony promises, pushing his friends away.

“Obviously you’re not,” Mikey bites back.

“As if you get a say.”

“Ok kids let’s not fight. Reckon you’ll be able to get to sleep?”

Both Mikey and Tony shake their heads, and so Rhodey sighs dramatically and signals for them to join him.

“We can watch a movie. I’ll make hot chocolate.”

“I’m not five,” Tony protests, though he does it with as little sincerity as possible.

The knowing smile Rhodey offers shows that his little ruse has been noted.

“I’ll add whipped cream.”

“Awesome.”

The floor to ceiling window displays the city that sprawls beneath them. The lights flicker like stars, and the life continues onwards. Somewhere down there, Tony’s Dad is stalking the halls of Stark Manor without a single care in the world for his only child.

“Why did you never tell me who you were?”

Tony doesn’t need to ask for elaboration. Mikey is a fairly straight-forward kid, for all the jokes and the ‘dude, watch this’ that he throws out.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Tony counters calmly. “Seems like we were both holding back information. Why didn’t you mention you had brothers before?”

“Long story.”

Tony frowns and Mikey rolls his eyes dramatically.

“OK, fine, but first, you won’t believe me, and second, you have to tell me why you left too. Agreed?”

Tony considers this for a moment. It seems ridiculous that they’ve been friends for so long and never quite managed to talk about themselves in anything but a superficial way. They talked about what they’d been doing during the day, whether they found food, trouble they’d run into; nothing of depth.

“My brothers and I… we’re not… look, Tony, you’re not going to believe me, but at least pretend you do for the sake of the story? I’ll try and explain, but if you’re just not taking anything I say on board, there’s no point in me trying.”

“Ok.”

“Promise me.”

Tony rolls his eyes at how earnest Mikey is being.

“Fine. I _promise._ ”

“Ok. Ready?”

Tony nods, and Mikey sinks into the couch cushions.

“My brothers and I aren’t human.”

Tony’s entire body stills at the admission. Then he moves over to the couch and collapses into the cushions, tying to keep his disbelief from his face.

“We’re turtles.”

Tony scoffs, unable to help himself.

“Are you messing with me?”

“You _promised_ ,” Mikey implores, palms up, eyes wide.

“Sorry, but—”

_“Tony.”_

“Right. I promised. OK.”

“We’re turtles. It’s a long story, really. My sensei, father, teacher – whatever you want to call him – used to be a rat. But me and my brothers, when we were baby normal turtles, were knocked down a rain-drain and then this truck crashed, and we were covered in some goo made by a company called TCRI. Father saved us, and in the process also got covered in the goo. Thus, we mutated.” Mikey pauses, eyes fixating on Tony. “Did I use ‘thus’ right?”

Tony nods dazedly.

“Well, ever since, we’ve been growing up in the sewers.”

Silence precedes the story, and the sofa cushions rub against the fabric of Mikey’s pyjamas as he shifts.

“You’re a mutated turtle?”

“Well, I _was_. Obviously, I’m not anymore.”

“Obviously.”

“You don’t believe me and look; I don’t blame you. But it’s the truth.”

“Ok, say I _do_ believe you. What happened? Why are you human?”

“I don’t know. I don’t what happened, only that one morning I woke up in an alley looking like a human. When I went to find my family, my brother Raph… he thought… and he tried to… so I ran.”

“Your brother. The mutant turtle?”

“There are four of us. Me, Raphael, Donatello, and Leonardo.”

There’s a mental click, and Tony smiles.

“And you’re Michelangelo, right?”

“Right. My dad has a thing for artists.”

“Clearly. So, if you guys are mutants – which if I think about it, isn’t the craziest thing I’ve heard – where do you live? I doubt you have a penthouse in Brooklyn.”

“Nah. We live in the sewers. It sounds gross, dude I know,” Mikey says quickly when he gets a look at Tony’s face, “but we’ve not a lot of options, and between the four of us, we’ve made it clean and sanitary. I swear.”

“Ok. But, have you tried to go back since?”

“I can’t. They won’t believe me. I saw my brother in the tunnels, and when I tried to tell him it was _me,_ he tried to attack.”

Tony, in his best efforts to ignore the logical argument that Mikey _can’t have been a mutated turtle,_ decides to try and help in any way that he can.

“In other circumstances, I’d have assumed that the answer would be an immediate no, but I guess I’m open to surprises now. Do you have any internet access down there?”

“Are you kidding me? Donnie has entire bloody computer lab set up. He’s the smart one.”

“Well, if they’ve got a set-up, I can probably get a message to them. Maybe we film a video? All they need is to hear your voice, right?”

Mikey pulls a face.

“You know what the weirdest part of being human is?” he asks, apropos of nothing. “Having more than three fingers.”

Memories flood back of Mikey struggling to hold a slice of pizza they were given. How he would make weird comments about opening a bottle of water, and how holding a pen seemed so unnatural to him. At the time, Tony had chalked it up to Mikey just being a weird dude, but if what he’s saying is true – that he was once a turtle – it suddenly makes sense.

“OK. To the video. We’ll do that.”

“What’re you two talking about?” Rhodey asks, as he returns with three steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

“Nothing’,” Tony rushes to say. “Thanks.”

Rhodey hands out the mugs and settles himself between the two young teens.

“Convincing.”

It would be foolish to allow this to develop into an argument, so Tony distracts his mouth with the sweet taste of hot chocolate. It reminds him of the first party he was invited to at college. One of the sophomores was throwing a ‘rager’ and tried his best to convince Tony to attend. Tony, at the tender age of fourteen, had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Rhodey, thankfully, found Tony before he’d drank his fifth beer, which Tony is sure would have made him brave enough to accept whatever pill was being passed around. Rhodey had taken Tony by the arm and gently guided him out of the house and taken him home. He’d sent Tony to bed with a glass of water and the promise that they’ll talk in the morning.

The next day, Tony was handed a hot chocolate with whipped cream and told about the dangers of drinking.

“The people at these parties are thinking only about having fun. They have no regard for your safety, or their own. I’m not saying you shouldn’t go to parties – though you’re _very_ underage and I advise against it heavily – but I am saying that you need to take more care of yourself.”

Tony had been an idiot. He had been living in a luxury that he didn’t know was fleeting. It was only months later than he found himself wishing he was at least a little drunk, just to keep the sting of the cold away. Though, watching the other people succumbing to the debilitating effects of alcohol additions really beat down that desire.

“So, what’s the plan from here?” Rhodey asks.

Tony and Mikey look at each other. Now that they’re cleaned up and Mikey’s injuries have been tended to, nothing else seems to matter. Tony doesn’t know where they should go from here, and from the looks of it, neither does Mikey.

In a simpler world, Tony would contact Mikey’s siblings and get him to them safely. Tony would be welcomed back into his father’s arms, or at the very least, back into MIT. Rhodey and the Avengers would stick around even though Tony had been lying to them for so long. Things would go back to near normal.

But this isn’t a simple world. This is a world where things go wrong because of some sadistic overlord who wants nothing more than to watch Tony suffer.

“Dunno,” Tony shrugs. “Hopefully something good, but probably something bad.”

“That’s the spirit,” Rhodey says dryly.

“Well, I’m yet to be proved otherwise,” Tony retorts.

“Nor I,” Mikey proclaims. “Did I—”

“Use ‘nor’ correctly? Yeah.”

Mikey’s grinning response is enough to offset the serious situation they’ve found themselves in. Tony wants to look into the future. He wants to know whether things are going to get better, whether he’s going to have to run away, whether he’s going to lose Mikey to his family.

The final thought strikes him from nowhere. Immediately, guilt pulls him into the sofa cushions, and grief makes it suddenly difficult to drink the hot chocolate. The change in demeanour is noticed immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

Rhodey frowns, hand reaching out to take Tony’s. Tony jerks backwards.

No, he tells himself. Rhodey is his best friend from before. He might not have gotten involved because he was rich, much like everyone else. It was more of a convenience for the two of them. Proximity made it necessary.

“Tony?”

Without a second thought, or even a moment to try and understand why he’s feeling what he’s feeling, Tony vaults over the edge of the sofa and makes a dash towards the staircase. Rhodey yells after him, but the door closes before anything else happens.

This is the right thing to do, Tony is sure. He’ll find a way to get in touch with Mikey, get the dude set up with his family, and then Tony can move to another state. Somewhere far away. He doesn’t need to burden anyone with his presence, or the hoard of problems that comes with.

The stairs twist around in a perfect square, and by the time Tony is a floor from the bottom, his lungs burn with exertion and the hot chocolate is threatening to make an appearance.

“Where exactly do you plan to go from here?”

The concrete wall knocks Tony’s breath out as he slams himself up against it. The automatic lights from the floor below turn on, and Natasha sidles into view, mouth flat. She’s wearing a t-shirt that looks like it probably belonged to Clint and a pair of sleep shorts. Her hair, however, is pulled into a flawless ponytail. If she’s just woken up, there’s nothing about her that gives it away.

“Come on, Tony. What are you going to do next? Head out, disappear? Live on the streets of New York until you die of hyperthermia?”

“No, not New York,” Tony snaps, before groaning. “It doesn’t matter. I can do what I want.”

Natasha steps forward, mouth twitching down.

“I’m sorry, but that’s not true.”

The air rushes out of him, and Tony can’t back up any further as she takes another step forward.

“You’re underage. Legally, you’re a child. Either a ward of the state or under the guardianship of us. The choice is yours. However, we’re not going to let you leave.”

“So, what, you’ll kidnap me?”

“If that’s what keeps you safe,” Nat shrugs, unashamed. “Everyone here cares about you.”

The flash of disbelief must show on his face, because Nat pulls him into a hug. For a second, Tony resists.

“We do. We really do. You’re like our little brother. We won’t let you just leave. Especially if you think we don’t love you. Because we do.”

Melting into her arms, Tony feels tears stream down his cheeks. Next, a sob bursts from his chest, and before he knows it, he and Nat are sat on the stairs while he falls apart.

“You’re safe with us. You can live here forever if it comes to it. We’ll do what we can for your friend, though the mutant thing is going to be difficult to work around.”

Tony laughs through the distress, because of course Nat knows, and of course she’d say it like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“I don’t know what happened with your father, but the next time I see him, I’m going to punch him in the face.”

“No!” Tony shouts, pulling out of her hug and wincing at the volume of his own voice. “No,” he repeats, quieter. “You can’t.”

“I can. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t.” Her hands reach up and cup his face, thumbs wiping away his tears. “I’m sorry you were going through this on your own. You don’t deserve that.”

“I changed major’s without telling him.”

“Is that you giving him an excuse for putting a teenager on the street?”

Sheepishly smiling, Tony shrugs.

“That’s what I thought,” Nat continues. “How about we go back upstairs? I imagine Rhodes is going to have a meltdown, and your friend is going to aggravate his injuries.”

Nat, Tony decides, is a master manipulator. There’s no way Tony is going to leave his friends in any form of distress, and she’s absolutely aware of that fact. In fact, she’s shamelessly playing him.

“Fine, but I know what you’re doing,” Tony accuses.

His voice breaks a little, and his legs are wobbly as his stands up. Nat wordlessly slips her hand into his, and then together they make their way to the elevator and up to where Tony left Rhodey.

“Oh, thank god.”

“No, thank me,” Nat jokes.

“Where exactly were you going to go, Tones? Back to Howards?”

“I have strict instructions to not punch Howard,” Nat explains with a chuckle.

“Probably for the best, since Steve has already dibbed that right.”

The smirk Rhodey is wearing as he speaks melts away the moment Tony breaks away from Nat. He doesn’t get far, though, because she has reflexes that are inhuman. One slender arm wraps around his stomach, and then Tony is pulled into her. She places a hand on his forehead and holds him.

“Calm, little one.”

“He can’t!” Tony cries out, struggling.

“Why do you even care, bro?” Mikey questions. “Your old man got you kicked out of school, and then he forced you to live on the streets. You should _want_ him to get punched.”

Nat’s hold tightens when Tony tries to twist away.

“You don’t understand. My Dad is crazy powerful. If-if Steve were to-to do anything, he’d be killed on sight! We have to s-stop him!”

“He’s not left yet, love,” Nat promises. “And I’ll message Steve, warning him not to go. Don’t you worry.”

But Tony will worry. He doesn’t feel like he has many options. He might be one of the only people in the world that truly grasps the level of power Howard has. To most, the man is simply a wealthy businessman, but to Tony, he’s a man with drive and connections in countries and governments everywhere. Whatever Howard says, goes. If the Avengers do anything to piss Howard off, then they’re going to end up living on the streets with Tony. Or worse.

“I don’t want you all to get in trouble,” Tony says miserably. “You can’t ever let him know I’m here.”

“Your Dad sounds like an ass, Tony,” Mikey grumbles.

“He sounds like an abuser.”

Rhodey has never been angry before. Or, maybe he has, and it’s just never been when Tony was around. Either way, it didn’t look good on him, and Tony won’t admit this out loud, but he’s a little scared.

“He’s not going to change anytime soon, so there’s no point in trying. Let’s just… never talk about him if we can help it.”

Slowly, in the following silence, the sun casts a warm orange glow on the room.

“How about we settle down?” Nat suggests.

Without waiting for an answer, Nat gently leads Tony back to the sofa and pushes him down. Normally, Tony would object to being man-handled. Any kind of touch is something he’s come to almost violently oppose since he was around ten. However, with Nat it’s different in a way he doesn’t fully understand. It may be because she is a woman. It could be because she is someone he trusts. There’s a possibility that it’s only because he’s not really in the right mind right now.

“What’s going to happen now?”

Mikey’s voice is soft, but there’s a tremble underneath that Tony has never heard before. Even with everything they’re having to deal with, Mikey has always been happy-go-lucky with an unending amount of cheer. For him to suddenly sound fearful drives the full force of the situation home.

“No matter what happens, we’ll make sure you’re both safe. If you’re not able to return home, you will stay here until better plans come along. Both of you.”

Nat sounds fierce and imploring to the point that Tony doesn’t even want to think that it might not be true, lest she discover his lack of faith.

“I don’t…” Mikey bites lip and glances down at his flexing fingers. “I just want things to go back to the normal.”

“I can’t promise that we can make that happen, but I can promise that we’ll try.”

Tony nods in confirmation when Mikey turns his wide, anxious eyes on him.

It’s strange to Tony that he has friends. At school he was surrounded by older kids and most of them wouldn’t give him the time of day to get to know him. Tony’s best friends growing up had been Ana and Jarvis.

Somehow, in the space of a year, his social life shifted from being destitute to being filled with a college student, an ex-mutant, and a house of superheroes and spies.

“I’ll do what I can to help you get in touch with your family,” Tony promises, even as a fear of Mikey leaving spikes in Tony’s heart.

~

The next few hours are filled with mundane talks, background cartoons, breakfast and the influx of heroes. Clint throws himself onto the sofa and promptly falls asleep. Bruce takes Mikey for an x-ray and declares that there are no broken bones.

“He should be good as new in a week or so, assuming he is careful. None of the injuries are life threatening, so long as we keep treating them.”

“He wouldn’t know careful if it slapped him in the face,” Tony mutters.

“I’m the king of careful,” Mikey decries.

“Oh? Is that why you showed up looking like a post-party pinata?” Clint inquires, cracking open an eye.

“That’s different. And complicated. Normally I can handle myself, but this body is still new to me. He’s an old family enemy, and normally I’m not facing him alone… point is, it was a fluke. I bet I could take you all in a fight, given a few days to align my skills with my body.”

The last vestiges of sleep rolls off Clint, who jolts upright, a manic glint in his eye.

“Wanna put money on that?” Clint challenges.

The entire room groans in response.

“I’m kinda strapped for cash right now, but it doesn’t matter too much since I won’t be losing. Though, on the off chance I don’t win, I could teach you some moves?”

Clint throws his head back and roars with laughter.

“Jeez, Kid. Alright, I’ll take you up on that. I win, you have to call me King Clint, fighter supreme. If you win, I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”

Mikey’s mouth drops open as Nat slaps Clint around the back of his head.

“What? It’s not like he’ll win!”

“I’m not sure where to start with my list of ‘why this is wrong’,” she says. “That you’re dangling that much money in front of him? That he’s injured? That he’s a child?”

“Just cause he’s old doesn’t mean he has an advantage,” Mikey cuts in.

The sharp smile that Nat sends to Mikey is both chilling and sets Tony at ease. As he relaxes into his seat, Steve arrives, smiling warmly.

“Morning, team.”

A chorus of ‘morning, cap’ fills the room.

“Give him time to heal, promise not to take it too far, and I’ll agree to referee,” Nat offers.

“Referee?”

“Yeah. I’m going to kick the snot out of Clint.”

“Is that so?” Steve says, bemused.

“Optimism is cute, but don’t get those hopes up too high, ok kid?”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

~

The two weeks that follow are the longest, warmest, scariest and happiest of Tony’s life. The night terrors continue, but Rhodey and his endless patience are there to coax him out of a panic attack.

When Tony isn’t sat in front of a computer trying to locate an IP address that might belong to mutants that live in the sewers, he’s hanging out with the team. They watch TV, cook, and sometimes even work out together. Not that Tony is particularly good in the gym. Steve is non-judgemental, though, and he guides Tony through some basic boxing drills while Mikey copies Nat as she demonstrates some very impressive gymnastics. He’s careful not to undo any of his healing, but Tony is impressed with the guys flexibility.

During those two weeks, the team are called on two missions. There was a brief argument over who would stay behind.

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Tony protested.

“Am I not trusted enough?” Rhodey complained.

“I guess Rhodey _is_ an adult,” Steve reasoned.

“Oh, gee, thanks for the tentative acceptance, Cap. I’ll wear it like a badge.”

Clint had snickered and reminded them not to throw any parties in their absence.

It was in that time that Rhodey and Tony got to witness the full extent of Mikey’s skills.

“It’s a little uncoordinated, you know, cause I used to have a shell, but even when I’m not at 100%, I’m still a lean green fighting machine. Ugh, I guess without the green part.”

Rhodey is very clearly of the opinion that Mikey has lost it, and Tony won’t pretend he’s entirely convinced yet, but there’s no denying that the boy is incredible.

“Dad taught me and the bro’s ninjutsu,” he explained after a particularly difficult routine.

“My money is on Mikey to win,” Rhodey announces that evening.

“Oh yeah? What’re you planning for him to suddenly be so sure?” Clint accuses.

“I’m planning to kick your shell,” Mikey taunts.

“The game is over if you pull any pranks, got it?”

“First of all, I’m Doctor Prankenstein. Second, I play by the rules. Always have.”

“That’s a lie,” Tony counters lazily.

“It is,” Mikey concedes. “I won’t play dirty though.”

Clint eyes Rhodey and Mikey with suspicion for the rest of the night. Rhodey mostly rolls his eyes at it, but Mikey seems to simultaneously take delight in it and fear it. The night, Tony finds out why.

“My whole life we’ve been hiding in the shadows. Suddenly I’m out in the open and it’s terrifying. I’m also, well, sad. My brothers are probably still stuck inside, and I can go wandering outside in broad daylight.”

“That must be pretty difficult. Do you miss them?”

“Of course, I do. Sixteen years around the same people? Losing them feels like losing a part of myself, you know? Like my skateboard losing a wheel.”

“Sixteen?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you know?”

“No. I thought you were fourteen, like me.”

“You’re _fourteen_?”

Tony snickers.

“I can’t believe we really never talked about ourselves. You’re one of my first real friends, y’know? And I felt like I had to hide who I really was the entire time. Guess we’re alike in that respect, huh?”

“Well, in the ‘not talking about who we really are’ thing, yeah. But you’re not my first friend.”

Tony pulls a face.

“I don’t think you can count your family.”

“April and Casey aren’t my family.”

“There are more mutants?”

“What? No! Well, yeah, but not April and Casey. They’re humans.”

“ _What?_ ”

Tony pushes himself up on to his elbow to squint through the dark towards Mikey’s bed. He can only just see the outline of the boy in his bed.

“What?” Mikey copies, a hint of humour present.

“You didn’t tell me you had human friends,” Tony accuses, not sure if he’s frustrated or angry.

“Yes I did.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

“Jesus, Mikey!” Tony exclaims in a loud whisper. “I’ve spent the last three weeks trying to locate a signal in a bloody sewer system, and you’re telling me Now that I could have just looked on Facebook?”

The darkness shift as Tony’s eyes adjust. Mikey has tilted his head to the side, eyes shining with curiosity. As always, there's a smile brightening his features.

“Face book? how's reading going to solve anything?”

Tony full back into his pillows chuckling. Tomorrow, Clint is going to lose to a teenager, Tony is going to help Mikey connect with his family and, finally, Tony can start planning his new life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikey fights with Clint, and life starts to get a little brighter.

Talking of Michelangelo

_Homeless Chapter 2_

~ Mikey ~

Having never _not_ been a mutant turtle, learning that I have to convince people I am—or rather, was—is odd. I don’t think even Tony believes me yet, nor (and I _am_ using that properly) do any of the others in the house. Except Nat. But considering she’s utterly terrifying, I think I’d rather have someone else believe me.

Like Bruce.

When I told him that I used to be green, the man laughed like it was some kind of inside joke. I don’t know what his deal is, but he’s nice, so I won’t judge him too harshly.

Well, all that ‘non-believing’ comes to an end today!

Tones promised to that he’d find a way to contact Case or April for me, using some kind of _book_ of all things. If that doesn’t prove me right, then kicking the shell off Clint in front of all his friends will earn me some points.

Oh, this is gonna be good.

“You ready for today, squirt?” Clint jeers as we emerge from the bedroom.

Now that we’ve been there a few weeks, the team bought me and Tony some clothes. I even got to help choose! Wearing clothes is weird, I won’t deny that, but in this human body, not wearing them is ‘socially unacceptable’. The child protection services were the first to buy me clothes after I was led by hand to the police station by a stranger.

Now, I’m wearing orange PJ’s, which are softer than any blanket I’ve ever found in the dumps, and my day clothes include several pairs of sweatpants and bright orange t-shirts. Tony complained that they were an eye-sore, but without my mask, this was the only way I was able to feel like _me_. Maybe Tones will understand when he meets the bro’s.

“You bet, old man.”

Clint grins at me, and I think he thinks he’s going to win. That poor, unsuspecting, old dude. He has _no idea_ what I’m capable of, and he’s about to be taken down. I didn’t spend my entire life learning ninjutsu to lose to a man with a bow and arrow. What even is that? What century does he think we live in? Is he Cosplaying Robin Hood?

Tony, who’s eyes haven’t left the tablet screen since we woke up, snickers; at least half of his attention is in the room. Dude is a tech nerd if I ever saw one. Him and Donnie are gonna be the best of friends, I just know it. They’re like pea’s in a pod. Hopefully Raph is cool with him, too. Tony is a good bro, and Raph doesn’t usually gel well with the smarter of his friends.

Tony is different, though. Sure, he’s a bit of a nerd, but he’s also younger than what you’d expect from someone who’d been on the streets as long as he had. Not something I’d have expected from a rich family, either. Though, I don’t have the most interactions with humans, so I guess that’s a learning curve for me.

Plus, when I first met Tony, he was a mess. And one of the first humans—beyond Casey and April, that is—that I had a real interaction with.

It was a month or so after I woke up in this body. I’d been trolling for some food at the local bakery when I heard someone crying. Being the curious and kind-hearted turtle that I am, I went searching and found a skinny kid with curly brown hair and bruises covering his arms and ribs.

“You OK, dude?” I asked.

The kid, and I couldn’t believe how young he looked, nodded and whispered that he was ‘fine’. A classic Raph move.

“You’re the opposite of fine.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not,” he’d sniffled. “Leave me alone.”

“Can I call someone for you?” I offered.

I didn’t have a phone, but I could take him into a store or something.

“No. I don’t… I’m fine. Please just go away.”

Fortunately for him, I’m nothing if not stubborn and unwilling to take hints. I reached down between the two giant trash cans and wrapped an arm around his back.

“Hands off,” the kid grumbled, struggling. “I’m _fine_.”

“I know somewhere that can help,” I told him, ignoring his complaints. “They’ll give you a bed and food and probably help you with whatever happened. I’m homeless too, you know. I don’t look it, cause of my handsome looks and general awesomeness, but I am.”

The struggles stilled, and I realised then that he wasn’t carrying much of his own weight. He was properly injured. He certainly looked like he was in pain, if the strained grimace was anything to go by.

He wasn’t standing at his full height, but out of the ball he’d curled himself into, I could see his clothes were ragged and he was dirty. More than that, he looked utterly despondent. And if there’s anything I pride myself on, it’s that I can cheer up even the most miserable soul.

“What happened to you?” I ventured to ask.

His eyes flickered from me and back to the floor.

“Nothing. Fell, I guess.”

I snorted, and his cheeks burned red.

“Sorry. It’s just… man, that was a bad lie.”

He’d not bothered to protest further. It was for the best, really, since there was no way he could have convinced me out of it. No one, not even Raph, would have left the kid out there on his own.

I’d half-dragged, half-carried him to a nearby shelter, and the rest is history. We rarely left each other’s sides. Sometimes I would go off for a night on my own to try and bust my way into the Shredder’s base or to see if I could get close to April or Casey, but the rest of the time we were together. Tony was a comfort to have around, but it was nothing like having my family.

Damn, it’ll be good to see my bro’s again.

Last time I saw any of them, well… let’s just say that it’d be nice to see Raph again when he doesn’t look like he wants to murder me.

“Hey, you never said how you got all cut up,” Tony says suddenly.

We’ve finished eating, so now we’re lounging on the sofa. Or, rather _I’m_ lounging. Tony is hunched over the tablet. Even now, as he speaks, he’s not looking up.

“Oh.” I guess I did forget to tell him about that in my panic. “I wanted to be a turtle again. I figured it had something to do with the Shredder. I wanted him to undo it.”

“And?”

“Uh. He tried to undo _me_. Not the intended outcome.”

“Hopefully we can fix the ‘turtle thing’ soon,” Tony mutters, before brightening up significantly. “In the meantime; Casey Jones?”

I’m about to say ‘yeah, that’s the name’ when another voice cuts me off.

“Who’s askin’?”

The voice sounds clear as if they were sat between me and Tony, and my heart leaps into my throat. Tony, looking smug, hands over the tablet.

A familiar face greets me.

“Case?”

My voice is barely a whisper, but Casey must have heard because all the colour drains from his cheeks.

“What the—”

“Nuh uh, dude. Watch your language.” My joke is about as weak as my voice. “There’s a child present.”

“I’m not a _child,_ ” Tony protests.

Casey is silent, and my hammering heart thunders in my ears.

“Mikey?”

I nod, swallowing back panic and bile.

“Jesus, Mikester, it’s good to hear your voice.”

Relief sends chills ricocheting across my body, and goose bumps pop up along my arms. I was secretly terrified that he wouldn’t know my voice, or he’d accuse us of lying or… or something equally as awful.

“It’s good to see you, man.”

I want to say how badly I want to go home, but I hold back. I hold as much back as possible. I don’t want to lose it with Tony watching on.

“Mikester, what happened? You’re seriously lacking on the green, there, bro.”

“I don’t know!” I choke out. My words catch in my throat and a sob overtakes it. “I miss you.”

I see Casey’s face crumple through my tears, and I feel immediately bad for making him sad.

_So much for keeping it together._

“Come on, Mikey, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

If it were that easy, I’d stop. But it’s not, OK? I can’t just turn it off. The tears are flowing as freely as a river on a rainy day now, and all I want to do is curl up under a duvet and never come back out again.

Tony obviously decides I won’t be making much sense for a while, ‘cause he tugs the tablet from my hands.

“Who’re you?” Casey asks, the shudder in his voice displacing the anger.

“I’m Mikey’s friend, Tony. Hi.”

Tony sounds so blessedly innocent. He doesn’t often sound like a kid, but I’m reminded now that he really is. Barely a teenager, really.

“Why’d you take Mikey?”

The sofa shifts, and Tony flinches away from the tablet.

“I—I didn’t _take_ him,” Tony stutters.

He sounds so scared, and I don’t blame him. Casey’s anger is showing now. And Casey can be as terrifying as Raph when in a rage, especially when that rage come from the protective streak the two softies will deny ever having.

“I’m offended,” I joke, voice cracking. “You think I can’t protect myself?”

I wipe away the tears on my forearm and lean into Tony’s side so that my face appears in the camera. My face looks pale and blotchy, and I hate that. If Raph were here, he’d be judging me for being so weak.

“I’m in Avengers Tower. I can’t go home—”

“Are they kidnapping you?” Casey rushes to say.

“—because I can’t go back. Wait, no. Of course they’re not. Case, please. You’ve seen me fight entire hordes of foot ninja. Name one Avenger that I couldn’t beat into a pulp?”

The anger drains from Casey’s face and his mouth twitches up into a smile.

“That scary woman. Black widow?”

UH.

“Yeah, alright. But only cause she’s a lady.”

“Liar.”

“We’re getting off topic. We need to figure out how to do the reunion,” Tony says, looking like he doesn’t know if talking is actually a good idea. “I need to go super quick and ask our friends for permission. BRB.”

With that, the kid jumps off the sofa and scarpers away, running into the hallway and disappearing. I turn my attention back to the tablet.

“This is so strange,” Casey mutters. “You’re a cute human.”

“Oh. And as a turtle I was repulsive?”

“That’s a bit of a strong word. I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Rude.” I try to look angry, but I’m smiling too much.

Casey shifts around, and now that I’m looking, I can see that he’s at home. I can’t hear anyone else around, so he must be home alone. April must be at the shop, or something.

“They never stopped looking for you.”

Casey has never been the most intuitive or emotional guy. That’s something I both do not understand, and love about him. He’s more of a ‘punch stuff ‘til we don’t care anymore’ kinda dude. He’s always the last one to get the memo about emotional issues; not because we don’t tell him, but because he takes a while to process the information. Slower than me, even. Only Raph is on par with him, and even then, Raph is very in tune with all our problems. I can’t have a bad day without my big bro knowing about it.

This is why it’s such a surprise for him to say exactly the thing I never even knew I needed to hear.

“Yeah? I bet Raph is falling apart without me.”

I want it to be a joke, but Casey doesn’t laugh, so I know that there’s some truth to it. That makes it so much worse.

I really wish I had a solution to this problem, but I was never the ‘Plan Guy’. I was always the ‘Joke Guy’. I need Leo. I need Donnie. I want Raph and Dad. I need my family.

“Things haven’t been good man. We thought you were dead. Not that it stopped Don from searching every bad guy network, or Raph and Leo from searching every corner of New York. Even April and I have had our ears to the ground since you disappeared. What happened?”

“I wish I could tell you,” I lie, trying not to think about my family in turmoil or about that day. “I just woke up one morning and I was in this meat-suit.”

Another lump jumps into my throat at the memory of Raph’s face. Fortunately, there’s no chance for either of us to say anything else, because Tony comes racing back into the world, and he jumps onto the sofa, body bouncing a little.

“Hey, Mr. Jones, could you possibly come to the Avengers Tower? Natasha said it was OK, and she said that ‘you’re not a security threat’ which is probably the most glowing recommendation one could get from her.”

Casey mouths ‘Mr. Jones’ before suddenly snapping into annoyance.

“I am too a security threat.”

I roll my eyes, because holy hell, of course that’s what he’s focusing on.

“Come to the tower? Can you?” I ask.

“Sure, man. I’ll head over asap. Should I—I mean, do you want me to tell the guys?”

My head is shaking before I even realise that I don’t want him to invite them. I don’t even know why. I want to see them more than anything else, but I know that it’s a bad idea. I don’t know if they’ll accept me, looking like this.

The image of Raph stepping out of the shadows is warped. Now, Donnie and Leo are at his sides, each with their weapons raised and ready, glaring at me like I’m the enemy.

“I get it, man. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Casey hangs up.

* * *

With the excitement of speaking to Casey again, I’d almost forgotten to prep for the fight with Clint. Fortunately, the man was so sure of his winning that he’s obnoxiously loud proclamations was enough to have me in the room, changing into my jogging pants and a tight-fitting shirt. I can’t give him any hand-holds.

Last night I’d gotten crafty and used the sleeves of a shirt to make a mask. I hope that Natasha doesn’t get angry that I ruined the shirt, but I miss the feel of the mask on my face, and it’ll help me get into the zone.

“Come on then, man. Ready to get your ass kicked?”

I slip my mask on, ignoring the incredulous reaction I get from Clint. As I tighten it, I step forward, rolling my shoulders and stretching my neck.

Tony bounces along behind me, giddy as a child on a sugar high. Together, we head into the gym on the floor below. Tony tries to step onto the mat, but Rhodey grabs him by the arm and yanks him back. The pout is hilarious, but I can’t waste time laughing at him. I’ve got an old man to humiliate in front of his colleagues.

Clint backflips onto the readily laid soft mats, settling back onto his feet with his hands high, like a gymnast waiting for a score. With a grin, I do a front handspring, twist mid-air, land on my hands and then flip again onto my feet.

“Toldja you were gonna lose, man,” Rhodey calls, leaning against the wall casually, one arm thrown over Tony’s shoulders.

“Knowing a little gymnastics doesn’t mean the kid can fight,” Clint reminds the room.

“No, but over a decade of ninjutsu training does,” I tell him.

Clint isn’t convinced, but he will be.

Clint assumes a defensive position and starts to circle me on the mat. I stand in the middle, twisting to face him. On the side, I can see Tony, having escaped Rhodey’s hold, jumping up and down, cheering. Natasha is nowhere to be seen. Steve, Bruce and Thor have just entered, moving to stand beside Rhodey.

Clint chooses that moment to sneak in an attack, a punch he was definitely holding, but I deflect with ease. His face twitches, just a little, but he remains cocky. He continues to circle, feet meeting and then jumping apart. I shift my own feet apart, ready to go on the offensive.

Clint twists on his left foot, and his right one comes at my shoulder. I know he can kick higher, but he’s trying to treat me like I can’t fight.

That changes now.

I grab his foot, duck and push it up. He staggers awkwardly on the single foot he has on the ground, and then I drop to my knees and my foot shoots out, slides fast and knocks him to the ground.

The crowd cheers, but I’ve played this game before. As much as I want to soak it in, I know I’m easily distracted. I launch upwards, flip for awesomeness, and land by Clint’s face. I tap his cheek, and he growls.

“What the hell.”

“How many times do I gotta say this? You can’t beat me.”

Clint rolls away and is on his feet. He faces me, all smiles gone and replaced with determination. He fakes for my left but throws out his left arm. I throw my hand out and wrap it around his wrist. Then, while he’s still reasonably still with surprised, I lift my leg, wrap it around his arm near the elbow and drag us both to the ground. I could have broken his arm with ease, and he seems to recognise this. I sit on his stomach, looking down on him while he splutters out his confusion.

“Damn, Clint, you’re really about to get your arse beat by a child.”

“Am not,” Clint complains. He pushes me away, and we both jump back onto our feet.

The circling begins again.

Clint snakes a leg out, trying to catch me by surprise, but I saw it coming from a mile away and flipped out of reach. I laugh loudly when Clint actually growls. I step closer, wait for him to make a move. When he tries for a basic left hook, I drop into a perfect split and reach in to grab his ankle and flip him onto his back.

“God, you’re bad at this. I’ve trained a quarter of your lifetime, and you’re still losing.”

“A quarter?” Clint squarks as he gets back to his feet. “Jeez, kid, how old do you think I am?”

“I dunno. Old is old.”

Clint rolls his eyes, and blocks a fist coming into his shoulder. He wraps a hand around my bicep and tugs me to the right.

I twist with it on the heel of my foot and duck beneath his approaching fist. Using Clint’s confusion, I throw my own fist upwards, catching Clint in the chin and sending him flying into the air and then crashing into the mats.

The room is silent. Clint doesn’t move. My heart stops beating.

Did I hit too hard?

“Crap,” I whisper, rushing forward to throw myself at Clint’s side. “Are you dead?”

Many moments in my life have left me feeling ice-cold with pure terror. Looking directly into the face of the shredder, when Raph carried a near-dead Leo from a fight to their home, and the day that I woke up in a body that did not belong to me.

This moment, staring down at the archer who’s chest is still, that ice-coldness is back.

“Clint?” I try again. “Clint, please.”

There’s a twitch that slows the hammering of my heart. Finally, Clint rolls over, eyes opening and smirk pulling at his lips.

_Oh, thank god._

“Ass hat,” I accuse.

“Had you going for a minute there,” Clint laughs.

A brief wave of annoyance is pushed away by one overwhelming fact.

“I won!” I cheer, jumping up and flipping backwards. “Cowabunga dudes, Michelangelo is in the hizz-ouse. Anyone else want their butts kicked by a kid that used to be a turtle?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

Warmth creeps into the darkest crevices of my mind as a familiar voice greets me. Spinning on my toes, I spy a pair that brings a smile so bright it hurts me cheeks.

“Casey! April!”

Casey opens his arms wide and I don’t need more of an invitation than that. They’re taller than I remembers. Arms wrap around my shoulders and hold me tightly against their chest.

“You’re so tiny,” April whispers, kissing my hair. “Oh, Mikey, we’ve all missed you so much. We were so worried.”

Her voice is thick. My stomach twists at the thought of her being sad, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t undo the last few months. I can fix things for her. I can’t…

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sososososo—”

A hand covers my mouth, stifling the rest of what I wanted to say, and April pulls me against her again. I don’t know if I want to cry or laugh. I can’t decide whether I’m happier to see them again than I am sad at those months in which my days consisted mostly of missing them and trying not to cry in front of Tony.

“Gosh, sometimes I forget you’re just children beneath all that green but look at you!” April takes a step back. “You’re just so _young_. And look at those freckles!”

Butterflies fall into a frenzy in my stomach while I search for something to say in response. She has her fingers exploring my face and running through my hair. She’s taken off the mask, so now it hangs like a scarf around my neck.

I want to say something to change the sombre mood. I should have a magazine filled with quips to shoot out in any given situation, but not today. Not in this exact moment. Right now, I feel like words are stuck in my throat like over-sized pills.

“Who’s in charge here?”

“Casey,” April reprimands, eyes touring the room before landing back on Case. “Please at least try to be polite.”

“Why should I? What I’m seein’ ‘ere is a buncha _heroes_ who kidnapped my friend.”

I’ve seen Casey’s slow build up to incomprehensible anger a dozen times. It’s not completely unlike Raph’s, and I’ve seen _his_ a million trillion times. First, he falls into a heavy Brooklyn accent. Then, his face slowly glows red, starting from the neck until it reaches his ears. Finally, the fists – or baseball bat, in Casey’s case – come out and start swinging almost mindlessly.

Normally, I wouldn’t doubt Casey’s ability to take down a room on sheer determination, but this room has super soldiers, spies, an airman and two of the smartest people in the whole world. Against even one of these people – with the tentative exception of Tony, since he’s so small and thin – I know that Casey would have his butt handed to him.

“Chill out, bro. All’s good. They didn’t take me. No kidnapping happened. At least, not by these guys. Tony brought me here and they helped me out, cause I was all broken and—”

“What?” Casey interrupts, grabbing my face again. “Who?”

April shifts her red hair back, looking equally as ready to fight, which is _scary_ , but I imagine that I’d feel the same way if they said something similar to me. The instant that Casey’s grease stained fingers stop searching my face, April has me so close that I can see the powder covering her cheeks.

“Any signs of lasting damage?” I ask, squirming out of her grip.

April huffs. It’s the same huff I’ve heard a thousand times over. It’s the one that says ‘Mikey, for the love of all that is sacred, can you please not grin like that when we’re on the precipice of disaster?’. And I only know that’s what the huff means because she told me. I thought it was a ‘your erratic behaviour is endearing’ huff. Like the one my dad gives me.

Ok, don’t think of Dad. Don’t think of anyone.

“Nothing except that dopey look on your face,” Casey teases.

I’m not entirely sure what Casey is talking about, but I’m sure it’s stupid.

“That’s the one,” Case laughs, pointing at my face.

“Mikey?”

Have you ever had that feeling, the one when your skin starts buzzing like its covered in electricity, but also ice cold like you’ve decided to bathe in artic waters?

That’s exactly how I feel at this moment because, for the first time in the last few terrifying, confusing, uncertain months, I know one of my brothers is in the same room at me. The attention that I’ve had on figuring out Casey’s teasing cracks into tiny pieces, and though I don’t turn, my mind is immediately on the other side of the gym.

It’s so _so_ stupid, but I just can’t bring myself to face Donatello. My ninja-sense – which, despite Leo’s insistence, is very real and very cool – tells me that he’s not alone. I want to prove myself right, to know that my family are _right there_ , but I can’t. I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t even think beyond the images that are forcing their way into the minds-eye.

What if they don’t believe me? What if Donnie decides that the science doesn’t add up and that I’m just some kid from the street? What is Leo’s critical eye looks me up and down and finds that I _can’t_ be me? I’ve changed so much since being forced out of my home, and most of it isn’t physical.

Another image enters the forefront of my imagination, but this one is a memory.

Raph, spitting mad, staring at me from the darkness, his sighs glinting in the light from my torch. His growl bounces off the sewer walls and vibrates down my spine. All he needs is to take a step forward and I’m turning of my heel and running away.

I’d been stupid, looking back. I realise that now. But the look Raph gave me was one he reserved for the bad guys. No matter how much I annoyed him, no matter how determined I was to get a reaction from him, he’d never looked at me like that.

It’s not just that, I guess. I’d just woken up alone and confused. Some kind stranger (or maybe even the people who’d dumped me in the alley) had thrown some clothes – a pair of trousers, an orange hoodie, and some ratty sneakers – on the ground by me. The first thing I did was dress, steadfastly ignoring what I couldn’t comprehend, and then I slipped down the nearest manhole. I didn’t know what else to do. My bones ached like I’d been steamrolled, and everything felt out of proportion. I didn’t really stop to think – something Donnie would call a ‘classic Mikey’ movie – about what had happened. Had I taken even a minute to try and figure out how I was going to explain myself, I might never have been left on the streets alone.

I would never have run away.

“Oh _shell._ ”

Raph rarely sounds as cut up as he does now, and it’s that which gives me the strength to turn.

“It was you,” Raph whispers, stepping forward.

“Holy _shit,_ ” Clint mutters. “Giant turtles.”

“We’ve seen weirder,” Natasha says with a shrug.

“When?”

Natasha’s smile leaves me wanting to ask her a million questions, but now probably isn’t the time. Not when my brothers are staring at me like I’m the second coming of Jesus or something.

“Is it really you?” Leo asks, eyes boring into mine. “Mikey?”

“Yeah.”

Or, at least, that’s what I want to say, but my voice is croaky, and I realise, a little belatedly, that I’m crying.

“It’s him,” Casey says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side. “The goofball just got pretty, is all.”

“Pretty?” Raph scoffs wetly. “The only ‘pretty’ thing about Mikey is that he’s pretty dumb.”

“That was weaker than your split-kick,” I complain.

Suddenly, as though that stupid response was a signal, my brothers have surrounded me. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but Donnie wraps his arms around me and lifts me off the ground. Leo has his hands on my face, and Raph is staring around the room at the people gaping at us.

“No, you know what? Nat’s wrong. This is the weirdest thing we’ve ever seen.” Clint rubs his eyes and then shakes his head when things don’t change.

“Speak for yourself, Barton. I’ve known about these guys for years.”

Natasha doesn’t look smug, but she does smirk at the way that Clint is freaking out.

“Miss Romanov, a pleasure to meet you.”

Splinter nods in her direction, receives on in return, and then reaches for me.

“My son, you have been dearly missed.”

That was the final straw, I guess. The dam broke, and I was sobbing into Splinter’s robes. My knees barely felt the impact as I fell to my knees, but I did feel the warmth of his hands holding me close to him.

It took a long time for the tears to dry, and even longer to realise that everyone had left. Oddly, the absence of Tony, who I imagine is being watched over by the entire team, rears my protective instincts. It’s the ones that I normally reserve only for family.

“You quit crying yet, ya big baby?”

I would point out that Raph was definitely crying too, but I value my life and would rather not risk it with a snarky comment. Instead, I just grumble a ‘maybe’ and grin at him.

“You have to tell us your story, Michelangelo. How have you come to look like this? Where have you been for the past six months?”

He must know, somehow, that I’ve not just been hanging around in Avengers Tower since I left. I can’t figure out how he’s managed to come to that conclusion exactly, but he got there. He always does.

I could say anything, and my brothers would believe me, I reckon.

Dad, though, would spot the lie for what it was.

A defence.

“I don’t want to.”

Honest and upfront: I’m not lying and I’m saving myself from saying anything.

“Hoarding your problems will only make them swell.”

Or not.

What he doesn’t seem to realise is that I don’t _want_ to talk. I don’t want to share. The weight of everything that’s happened in the last six months is not so heavy that I can’t handle it. Besides, since I found Tones five months ago, that weight wasn’t always noticeable.

“Mikey, come on. You can’t just—”

“Don’t!”

My ears throb with the volume of my own voice, and guilt floods through when I see my brothers flinch away.

“You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do. If I don’t want to talk about it, I won’t.”

Raph’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click, and Leo eyes me reproachfully. Even Donnie swallows in an apparent reflex to my reaction. Only Master Splinter seems unfazed, though I’m not sure if he’s ever fazed by anything.

“Your brother needs time.”

“And,” Casey adds, “you’ve got loads of that. Besides, now I have a whole _two_ human friends! S’not that bad, is it Mikester?”

Casey, for all the dim-witted vibes he puts out there, is real good at driving a conversation in his desired direction. It might not be subtle, but who needs to be sneaky when it’s still effective.

“Being a turtle is better,” Raph throws.

“Whatever you say to yourself when you’re looking at your ugly mug in the mirror, Raphie Boy.”

In a flash of red and green, Casey is on the floor with Raph on top, knee poised on Casey’s chest. April leaps out of the way with a shriek of annoyance. The instant the shock wears off, Casey is grinning wide and he tackles Raph off and the two are wrestling.

“Good thing we’re still in a gym,” Leo shrugs.

“Most of this stuff is indestructible,” Mikey gushes, weak with relief at the topic change. “Steve is a super-solider, so Tony had to help build something that wouldn’t break during a workout.”

“Really?” Donnie’s eyes light up and, inexplicably, I start to cry again. “Oh, Mikey, come here.”

His shell is smooth and hard, and it feels so foreign beneath my stupid human fingers. I almost cringe, but Donnie is my big brother. I want to never let go.

“Hi.”

I feel, rather than see, Donnie turn. I have to pull out of the hug in order to handle the situation, cause I know Tony well enough now to know that he’s incredibly skittish. If nothing else, it’ll give me something besides my own grief to focus on.

“Tones, come over here.”

Though his jumper sleeves hang over his hands—he probably stole it from Rhodey (again)—I can see the tremor in his clenched fist. His wide, doe eyes search the room in a panic. For a homeless kid who’s had to defend himself from drunks and the elements, he seems awfully anxious around a bunch of friendly teenagers.

The fear, however, doesn’t deter him from ambling over on uncertain limbs. The moment he’s withing arms reach, I pull him into my side and tuck him under my arms. The trembling, I note with pride, seems to subside.

“There are my brothers. Leo, Don and then that’s Raph over there messin’ about with Case. This is April, our only normal.”

“I’m normal,” Leo says earnestly.

“You’re a five-foot five talking turtle,” Casey calls from his place on the mat. “You’re anything but normal.”

“Touché,” Leo concedes.

“I’m Tony,” the kid offers with a wave.

“How’d a kid like you end up in a place like this?” Raph asks as he pushes Casey away and moves back into the circle.

“My, uh, dad, he, um—”

“Tony helps the Avengers by building ‘em stuff.”

The reactions differ, but Donnie’s is the most extreme. His eyes grow so wide I’m worried they’ll fall out of his head. His jaw hangs so low that I can see his uvula.

“Wait. Tony? As in _Stark_?”

A jolt in my arms comes through as though his words were an assault.

“Yeah, but his old man is some loser who—”

“ _Mikey!_ ” Don gasps. “Mr Howard Stark is a national treasure.”

“He forced me to live on the streets because I wouldn’t let him dictate my every move,” Tony says bluntly.

That melts the anger on Donnie’s face faster than a blowtorch would melt chocolate.

“Oh.”

Donnie, thoroughly chastised, winces.

“So, what’s the plan?” Raph demands. “Who did this to you?”

It feels like a trick to get more details out of me, but I guess giving them my hunch won’t do too much damage.

“I think it was Shredder.”

Raph blanches, before pulling out his Sai’s and spinning them threateningly.

“Then I say we find Shred-Head and grind him into iron filings.”

“And risk us all becoming human? That’s dangerous, Raph, and I don’t think we can defend ourselves against something we’re not certain on. If Mikey couldn’t, I doubt the rest of us could.”

Gosh, Don has faith in me. I probably shouldn’t feel as good about myself as I do, but for whatever reason, hearing that comes as a shock.

“Mikey is one turtle. There’s three of us.”

“Whatever, Raph. It’s still not something we should go into blindly. If we can figure out a way to defend ourselves, then we can avoid losing our turtle-ness.”

“Being human ain’t so bad.”

I sigh at the dramatics when all my family, April and Casey included, turn and gape at me.

“What?” I say with a defensive shrug. “Do you know how many hours I spent in skateparks with other people? In the daytime?” no one answers. “Many. It was dope.”

Dope is a word one of the kids at the park taught me.

My answer is met with silence, and from the way Raph leans forward, I can only assume that they’re expecting more.

Well, I’m here to disappoint.

“That’s it,” I announce.

“Of course, it is,” Donnie laughs. “Jeez, I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud, but I’ve missed how weird you are.”

“He is a bit weird,” Tony muses. “But less so now that I understand the three fingers thing.”

I bend at the waist and hold my stomach as I laugh. The muscles twinge painfully, spasming with each uncontrollable laugh. Looking back, I don’t remember the last time I laughed like this was.

And with that simple thought, I’m crying again.

“Oh, bro.”

I can’t gather enough energy to feel ashamed. My bro’s have always made jokes about how sensitive I am, but when push comes to shove, they’re always there when I need them.

Almost always.

“Hey guys. I see that the kid is crying, Tony looks like he’s about to follow suit, and you’ve pulled your weapons out, so this is probably a great time to tell you that we’ve ordered enough pizza to feed a super soldier army. When you’re ready, come and pick it up at the penthouse.”

He offers a wave and then ducks back out of the gym

“Pizza?” I say, along with my bros and Casey. “Clint, wait, did you get pineapple? Clint!”

My shouting doesn’t draw him back, and now I have a sinking feeling in my grumbling stomach. I wipe away the tears and turn to Tony, who’s wide eyes are glistening.

“I don’t think he got pineapple.”

* * *

Upstairs, in the lounge, everyone settles in with plates. There are towers of pizza boxes, and as predicted, Clint didn’t buy any pineapple.

“Because it’s an abomination, that’s why,” Clint says.

“It doesn’t matter what you think about it, Clinton. It matters what _I_ think, and as a connoisseur of pizza, I say that it’s good.”

“You’re wrong,” Donnie complains.

“I am _not_!”

“I apologize for my brother, but he’s not right in the head,” Leo smirks.

“I’m with Mikester,” Raph shrugs.

“Thank you. A man of fine taste.”

Tony, who has positioned himself on my left (something I suspect my brothers wanted to contest but didn’t when they saw his big puppy dog eyes), mutters something into his slide of pizza.

“What was that, Tony?”

I lean down, and Mikey repeats.

“I like pineapple on pizza,” he whispers.

“Yes!” I cheer. “The kid agrees with me. And since he built the tower, I’d say his opinion counts for three.”

“I didn’t build the tower,” Tony protests, cheeks heating up.

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say you didn’t,” Nat says with a smile.

Tony squirms when the other Avengers offer agreements. Bruce leans over and squeezes Tony’s knee. The kid could definitely use with some more positive reinforcements. I can’t imagine what it would be like for him to have grown up being so smart and being told by his own father that he was stupid.

Howard better hope that I never meet him, because I don’t think I could hold myself back.

“Mike, why don’t you want to tell us about where you’ve been since you disappeared?”

Don looks sincere in his question, but the idea of saying anything scares me. I don’t want to talk about it. I hate everything that happened, before and after finding Tony. The kid might have given me someone to focus on, but I still had a nightmare of a time away from my family.

“Why don’t you tell me your story first?”

* * *

The day it happens, the lair is silent before the reality hits. That alone should have alerted everyone that there was a problem, but at the time, it was a relief from a storm of angry words. Each turtle had foolishly thought that it was the other offering a reprieve from their fight.

Hours before, after a fairly run-of-the-mill break-in had been rumbled, they’d argued. Or rather, Raph and Leo had while Donnie wrestled a guilt-ridden and sore Mikey into a check-up.

“You were supposed to keep an eye on him!”

“I was, but _someone_ was about to take an ice-cream tub to the head. I’m sorry if my saving you distracted me for a second,” Raph drawled sarcastically.

The three bothers knew that the worst of Raph’s rages were the ones that simmered beneath the surface, like pressure building in a volcano. If he was that calm at the beginning, then what was to come later would be devastating.

“I was fine,” Leo contested. “I don’t need you to watch over me.”

“Neither do I,” Mikey whined.

“Stay still, Mike,” Donnie ordered.

With a heavy hand planting him in his seat, Mikey was left watching as his older brother fought over him. With his hand reached out largely ignored, he allows it to drop back to his side, wincing when it pulls on the gash on his shoulder. No matter what Donnie or Mikey did now, Leo and Raph would be completely oblivious.

“That bump is pretty bad,” Donnie said. “But some ice and rest ought to deal with it. The cut on your shoulder, however, requires stitches. I’ll numb it for you, but please try not to move.”

Mikey _hated_ being told not to move. Stillness was not, and never will be, a natural thing for him. However, he did his best as Donnie carefully sewed his skin back together. It itched, and he wished there was something other than the argument to distract him.

“You just _have_ to be in control of everything,” Raph accused.

“It’s not about control, Raphael. It’s about knowing what is going to happen when I’ve given orders. That’s how we fight together. If we don’t have each other’s backs, if I can’t trust you to take simply instructions seriously, then how do I know if I can trust you on any mission?”

“You threatenin’ me, Leo? You really trying to say you don’t trust me to have your back?”

“What if that is what I’m saying?”

Donnie pulled a little too tightly with the thread, and Mikey yelped in shock.

“Excellent. Well, if you don’t move too much for the next week or so and come back to me for a daily check-up, you should be fine.”

Mikey looked over his shoulder at the angry red line and frowned. It didn’t look that bad at all.

“I told you I was fine.”

Donnie scoffed and threw the needle and bloodied tissues into the trash.

“I said you _would_ be fine. For now, you have a slight concussion and a bum shoulder.”

Slumping, Mikey turned wide, sad eyes onto his purple brother.

“I wish they wouldn’t fight,” Mikey whispered. “No one should be ‘keeping an eye on me’. I’m not four or a wayward puppy. Why doesn’t anyone trust me?”

The med-bed creaked as Donnie sat down and put his hand on Mikey’s arm.

“It’s not about trust, Mikey. It’s all their big brother instincts rearing its head and demanding to be heard.”

“But it’s stupid. I’m almost sixteen! I should be allowed to go out and fight alone like all of you. I shouldn’t have my every move monitored by mum and dad,” Mikey bit out, gesturing to Raph and Leo, who were still at each other’s throats. “I don’t want them to fight, but especially over me. Especially when it’s stupid.”

The reassuring squeeze that Don offered did not help abate Mikey’s worries. He still watched with a helpless sadness as the shouting continued.

“I hear ya, little brother, but I think they need to channel their frustrated aggressions somewhere, and it just happens to be that you’re a great conductor.”

Mikey frowned as the conversation grew more heated. Splinter appeared before any fists made an appearance, but the damage was done. The two older turtles turned their backs on one another and stalked away.

“Don’t let it get to you, baby bro.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Mikey muttered, pushing Donnie’s hand aside and jumping down from the table. “Thanks, Don.”

“Any time, little bro.”

Mikey made his way to his room and threw himself down on his bed, regretting it the moment his shoulder twinged. He rolled onto his side, steadfastly ignoring the way his head swam with the movement. He grabbed a comic from the pile beside his bed and opens it roughly, wincing when the page rips at the bottom.

“I’m not a child,” he told the colourful characters. “I’m not. They all think they’re so mature because they’re older, but that’s stupid.”

As time ticked by and the feeling of anger grew, Mikey threw his unread comic to the ground sat up.

“I don’t have to take this,” he told the wall. “Raph storms out _all_ the time. I can totally go get some air.”

A pen on the floor is exactly what he needed, but he can’t find any paper. The clock on the wall ticked closer to the eleven.

“Whatever. They’re all asleep anyway. And I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

Confident, Mikey chucked the pen on his bed and tucked his phone by his ‘chucks as he stepped around the mess on his floor and out of his room. Through the house, he stalked quietly. It wouldn’t do him any favours to make any noise. His family would kill him for sneaking out alone. The lair was quiet and still. Mikey was the only one awake, and he’d never been happy about that before.

He won’t go topside, he promised silently to the room. Just to the tunnels that work perfectly as halfpipes. With a swipe, Mikey grabbed his skateboard and ducked out of the door, closing it silently behind him.

 _Just to blow off some steam,_ he told himself. _Just for an hour or two._

***

The next morning was an awkward affair from the offset. Raphael was already sat at the table, coffee in hand and staring intently at a crack in the table. Leo straightened up when he saw him, snapping from a sleepy slouch into a soldier in seconds. Donnie saw from behind and snickered into his hand as he stepped around Leo.

“Attention,” he coughed under his breath, before locking eyes with Raph. “Raph, please don’t tell me that’s my coffee that you’re drinking.”

“Fine,” Raph grunted. “I won’t.”

“That stuff is expensive,” Done whined.

“I’ll get you some more.”

“With what? Your sparkling personality hardly pays the bills.”

“Oh?” Raph looked up, eyes glinting at the possibility of a fight. “And being a nerd does?”

“Yes, actually,” Don bristled.

Raph deflated.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Next time, buy your own damn coffee.”

Leo casted a watchful eye around the room, searching for something to say, or maybe someone to lecture.

“Morning,” he said, almost suspiciously.

“Mornin’, fearless.”

“Morning, Leo.”

“Ah, morning my sons,” Splinter greeted.

Serene as always, Splinter flowed into the room with an empty mug clasped in his hands.

“I’ve just come to top up my tea. My soaps are going to start soon.”

Don reached over and flicked the switch of the kettle on.

“Who’s making breakfast?” Raph asked, kicking the chair opposite him out and using it to prop up his feet.

“Mikey was due to, but he’s probably still asleep. He had a long day yesterday.” Donnie gestured vaguely up at Mikey’s bedroom. “I’ll make us oatmeal.”

“I’m not eating that!” Raph shouted, jumping up as if burned. “Mikey!”

“Leave him alone, Raph. He has a concussion. Let him rest.”

Raph, predictably, ignored Donnie and vaulted over the table. With an impressive display of parkour, he was up to the next floor and standing on the precipice of Mikey’s room. Leo opened his mouth, likely to chastise, but Raph turned slowly and shouted down something that silenced everyone.

“He’s not in there.”

Splinter paused, hand hovering over the spoon in his teacup. His furry brows furrowed as he looked up at his son.

“Where is he?”

Leo leapt to his feet, twitching. He looked towards the main door and sighed.

“His skateboard is gone.”

Tension bled from Raph. He dropped to the lounge and sauntered back over to the kitchen, re-joining his family at the table. He picked the coffee back up and took a long drink.

“Morons gone for a ride and forgot to tell us. I can wait ‘til he gets back if it means I don’t ‘ave to eat Donnie’s crap oatmeal.”

“Hey!” Donnie protested.

Master Splinter shook his head, but with his tea cradled in his hands, he walked out of the kitchen and then the sound of the TV turning on greeted the brothers.

“The alternative is cooking for yourself,” Leo reminded them gently. “Mike could be out there for hours.”

“Oh no. No no. Not a chance. Raph isn’t allowed to touch a damn thing in here. That goes for you too, Leo. I’m not always going to have the parts to fix whatever you’ve broken.”

“Lies. You’re too smart for anything to stay broken too long.”

Donnie dismissed Leo’s comment with a wave of his hand, but the colouring of his cheeks betrayed his apparent indifference.

* * *

“I’m going to look for Mikey,” Donnie said, three hours later.

Everyone had resumed their usual daily activities, but Splinter asked about their younger brother enough that Don couldn’t help but begin to worry. The tension bled back into the room with every inquiry, until it became stifling.

“He’s probably just messin’ and blowin’ off steam.”

“Mikey isn’t like you, Raph. He leaves notes and comes back quickly after he leaves. He’s not the type to even have steam to blow off.”

“Don’s right.”

Leo appeared out of nowhere, mouth drawn down in worry.

“Maybe it’s just your over-protective instincts?” Raph suggested.

His usual bravado was gone, and in its place was a quiet anxiety. That alone pushed Don’s heart to work overtime. Donnie and Raph turned to Leo.

“Ok, well, look. Donnie can track him, right? You can track him?”

“Yeah, we have ‘find your phone’ on the shell-cells. Depends on whether he took it with him though. You know he’s terrible at remembering the damn thing.”

It was true. Mikey, more often than not, lost the phone somewhere in the lair. He never remembered to charge it, unless prompted, and was even worse at answering. Donnie threatened to take it back a thousand times, but he would never follow through on the threat. It was the closest thing to a toddler leash that they had on their young sibling. It was for the best that he had it on him, even if it were only 20% of the time.

Without further discussion, the three turtles assure Splinter that they will find their wayward brother and move into Don’s lab.

“He’s about forty minutes away,” Donnie announced after tapping away at the computer.

“Forty?”

“Yeah. A good way out of our circle, too. He knows better than to go that far.”

If Donnie’s stomach had twisted in a way that warned him something bad was going to happen, then none of his other brothers knew. It would not help to fill their minds with doubt.

“Let’s go get him.”

* * *

“Where the shell is he?”

Raph jumped down with a wet slap of his feet and spun around in search of his wayward little brother. Upon finding no sign of life, he looked to Leo.

“Spread out. He’s got to be here somewhere.”

There was not enough area to search, but in lieu of simply stating that their brother _couldn’t_ be there, the three split and go in a different direction.

“He’s not here.”

Raph’s shoulders rose up, and he’d twisted to argue, but Leo got there first.

“Don’t give up—”

“No. I mean, his phone’s here, but he’s not.”

Donnie stood with his back to his brothers, head bowed. Raph came to his side, followed his line of sight and immediately slumped.

“Oh, shell.”

Caught on an outstretched branch that washed down the sewers from the surface, Mikey’s shell cell bobbed with the flow of water.

“He could have dropped it,” Leo suggested.

“It’s all scratched up.” Donnie dipped down and picked the phone up from the floating trash. “And he’s never even chipped the edge before. Somethings wrong, guys. It looks like he was in a fight of some kind.”

Ice cold realisation washed over them as they turned to face one another. In all their years together, they’ve dealt with a lot of problems, but with care and diligence, they’ve managed to never lose their little brother.

“Tell Case and April. We need eyes on the ground.”

In any other circumstance, Raph would push against Leo’s attempts to lead. Donnie would run his probability calculations and Mikey would have attempted to lighten the mood. Not that day. With one of them gone, their dynamic was out of whack. Their group vibe shifted.

So, instead of the usual response, Donnie and Raph straightened up and prepared to do whatever Leo asked them to do.

“Let’s find our baby brother.”

* * *

“Of all’a ya’s, Mikey’s the one I’d expect to wonder off fer a few days and not even notice. You know what’s ‘e’s like. Kid’s got a few vital brain cells missin’. He’s probably out there, cutting it with his skateboard, and he’ll be back tomorrow and not even realise he was gone.”

Casey tapped the table next to the broken shell-cell. April had been quietly watching the turtles and Splinter had excused himself already in order to meditate.

“He might be an airhead, but Mikey’s never gonna just up and leave without warning,” Donnie reasoned.

“Maybe Mikey just panicked? Broke the phone and worried how’d you react. So, he just ran?” April offered.

“Mike wouldn’t do that,” Donnie implored. “He just wouldn’t.”

“I’m going to look. We don’t know how long he’s been gone, but I’m not risking him bleeding out just cause we’re not searching.”

“Make sure you keep in touch.”

“Come on Leo, I—wait. You’re signing off on this?”

Leo’s smirk lacked conviction, but he aimed it at Raph anyway.

“I want to find Mikey as much as you do. If there’s a chance he’s out there, lost and hurt in the sewers, I trust you to find him.”

Raph almost wanted to argue, just to vent his frustrations, but he knew he could lend that energy to the search, so he bit off the retort and nodded to his older brother.

“Keep a line open.”

Raph pointedly patted his phone and ditched the lair.

 _Woulda been a better plan to have put a tracker on the idiots board,_ Raph thought, and then stored it for later. When they have him back, they’ll probably end up putting a tracker on his shell.

Something ugly and twisted, like a car after it had been crushed, appeared in Raph’s chest as his mind ran through the previous twenty-four hours. The fight with the foot, the hit Mikey took, the subsequent and predictable argument between himself and their ‘leader’.

All-in-all, nothing out of the ordinary. Business as usual.

So, what happened for Mikey to want to leave? If he even _had_ wanted to leave, because he might have been lured or even hauled away from their home. Just because there wasn’t any evidence doesn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Ninja’s weren’t ninja’s for nothing.

Through the sewers, not much was happening. It was a quiet day for the rest of the world, and light rain kept a steady but shallow rush of water dripping down the storm drains. Above the noise of the water, though, Raph could hear something else. Talking.

Raph kept one hand on the grip of his holstered Sai and the other outstretched with a flashlight slack in his grip. Ahead, he heard the muttering more distinctly. And it was _familiar_. There was a mild hysteria to it, but Raph would know that dim-witted voice anywhere. Feeling a conflicting mixture of annoyance and relief, Raph rushed forward.

“Mikey, I—”

A figure steps into the beam of light and Raph freezes, the words catching in his throat as he pushes one foot back and balances his weight, a stillness stealing over his body.

A human.

Splinter had spent the better part of their pre-teen years warning them against humans, and more than enough of their teenage years. A thrill of fear shot through Raph, and he fought the urge to lunge forward and simply attack.

_“They will not understand, and fear of the unknown more often than not leads to rash decisions. Fear-fuelled reactions are dangerous. Be wary.”_

Raph slipped into the shadows and reached for his other said, thumbing the flashlight off. His eyes never left the human, who’s features were a mash up of emotions that Raph can’t even begin to name. One stuck out, though. Fear.

“B-bro?”

Raph growled. Any kid worth their salt would run, but this one stepped forward, unsteady on their feet as though they were a babe learning to walk. The kid wore ratty sneakers, and a bright sweatshirt and jeans. In the darkness of the sewers, it was hard to make out the colours. He wore them all in sizes too big for his small body, and he seemed distinctly uncomfortable with his entire body.

Still, Raph wasn’t about to risk discovery just because some kid with no sense had wondered into the sewers.

“Dude?” the chokes out.

The kids voice sounded _so familiar_. A rush of anger swelled in Raph, and he did the only thing he could think of. Whether it was to save his family, or to save the kid from Raph, he was not sure. But when he stepped into the light and raised his weapons, the message was clear; run now, or you’ll regret it.

The kid, who really wasn’t more than a boy, whimpered. His round eyes met Raph’s, the familiar burn of blue jolting Raph to his senses. Those eyes were the same ones that he’d seen for the last sixteen years. Before he could call the kid back, he was gone.

Raph stared at the spot where the boy was, and shook his head, trying to dislodge the idea that the human was Mikey.

It’s too risky to stay here, Raph thought.

With a final glance back, Raph shook himself again. There was no way that kid was Mikey.

It took him no time at all to get home, and when he walked in, he waved down questions about whether he found there brother.

He never told his family about the boy. Not in detail.

* * *

“We’ve been searching for you ever since.”

“Ever since? I was missing for _months_ , dude. You can’t have—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’m going to beat some sense into your weak human body.”

For a moment, I want to push. They couldn’t possibly have spent six months searching for me. That’s insane. But the desire is squashed by another, far more important thought.

“I’m not weak! I bet my human body could beat you.”

Raph rears back, eyes as wide as a half-dollar.

“Without trainin’ for half a year?” Raph scoffs with a shaky voice. “Not a chance.”

“I beat up Clint,” I state. “And besides, I did train. A little. When I could.”

Not technically a lie, since taking down the foot while trying to get an audience with the shredder probably counts.

“Hey! In my defence, I was caught off-guard. How was I supposed to know that some kid would know Kung Fu?”

“First of all, it’s _ninjutsu._ Not ‘Kung Fu’. Second, I told you, like, a million times that I was gonna beat you.”

“He’s right, Barton. He did,” Steve, the hero, chimes in.

Murmurs of agreement pass around the room. Tony, who’s energy has been flagging for at least half an hour or so of their pizza party, laughs through a yawn. He blinks slowly, and then slumps against my side.

“I bet I could at least take the rest of you on,” Clint challenges.

“Perhaps today is not the day for that particular battle,” Splinter suggests with twinkling eyes. “Young Anthony is tired, and it would not do well for him to miss such an event.”

Roused by the mention of his name, Tony jolts upright and rubs the sleeve of his jumper over his eyes.

“But I’m not tired.”

From the corner of my eye, I watch Raph pull a face and open his mouth. From experience, I know that he’s planning to call the kid out on his blatant lie, but Mr. Rhodes gets there before I do.

He waves an arm to grab my brothers attention and points at his mouth.

“He’ll fall asleep in five,” Rhodey mouths.

Raph looks from the kid to Clint and then shrugs.

“Since Clint lost a bet even after playing dirty, I nominate him to be in charge of cleaning up,” Nat announces.

“I second this,” Steve joins.

“Lost to Mikey, you mean? Did anyone get this on tape?” Raph chortles.

They probably do, since it’s one of the most high-tech buildings in the world, but for now, I want the floor.

“It’s a story I’m willing to tell, if you’ll let me,” I say with sweeping arms.

Tony won’t be awake for much longer so there’s no harm in helping him along into dreamland. Then, Rhodey can take charge and get Tones in bed before those horrid nightmares resurface and freak everyone out.

* * *

Having my family with me is a blessing I’ll never take for granted again. I may not be adjusting to being human as well as I thought I was, but now, with people I love around me, it’s significantly easier. Dad takes me to the side whenever it gets too much. I don’t know how he knew, but he did. We’d sit, I’d breathe, and then I could go on pretending that nothing was bothering me.

Tony was getting better, so at least that made one of us. Don took to the kid like an ant to a picnic, and since they’ve spent almost every minute together. Donnie treats Tony like a little brother and a god at the same time, which is a little unnerving. I’m sure the wonderment of meeting someone closer to his own age that can keep up with his science will wear off eventually. I’d probably feel a little jealous if I weren’t being distracted at all times. And if I understood any of the stuff I’ve heard them babbling about, like chipmunks on speed. April often joins them, but since she has a real job, she is back and forth from the tower and the antiques shop.

Clint, Raph and Casey have been messing in the gym and returning to the main area with bruises blossoming, bloody noses and stupid grins. Leo, Steve and Nat would share techniques with one another and spar. Always with far more finesse than Raph, and with fewer injuries. Where Raph was chaos, Leo was serenity. Just like always.

Master Splinter had found solace in Bruce. Together, they would meditate for hours. So, when he wasn’t ensuring that his children were on their best behaviour, Splinter could be found with Bruce or watching his soaps on TV.

 _Where does this leave you, Mikey?_ I hear you cry.

Well, fear not, because I’m not left alone for a second. If Donnie isn’t dragging me to the lab to talk nonsense about science, then Leo is pulling me into a training session. If Raph finds me while I’m between bro’s, he’s got me in a headlock and then I’m thrown, unceremoniously, into battle.

Splinter saves me when he can, and for the first time in my life, I don’t hate meditation.

I’m surrounded by warmth and family. Even if my process of healing is slow, I feel like nothing could possibly go wrong.

* * *

Of course, that’s when everything goes to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. The whole story has been slowly coming to me, so here you are!

**Author's Note:**

> Two of my favourite characters in the whole world hanging out.


End file.
